Filthy
by TheLovethief
Summary: SEQUEL to "Escalation". While Reid is trying to overcome his trauma, the other BAU-profilers investigate a new series of murders in DC.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is a sequel to my previous story **"Escalation"**. For a better understanding, I'd suggest to read that one first. Thanks to my beta reader **editor frog**!

Disclaimer: Criminal Minds is not mine.

**Filthy**

**Chapter 1**

_They were watching him. He could feel their gazes boring into his back. Apart from the disturbingly colorful lights that were coming from the various clubs and bars, it was a deep dark night. He didn't know what time it was, nor did he know where he was. He had no idea what he was doing in this dubious street that was crowded with even more dubious looking people._

_He felt dizzy, but kept walking. He didn't dare to stop, just wanted to get out of this shady quarter as soon as possible. Once in a while he lifted his head slightly and glanced up to make sure he wouldn't run into someone – or something._

"_Hey, pretty boy! In a hurry, are we?" The sudden voice from behind caused him to freeze instantly._

_He didn't like this tone of voice. It sounded too kind somehow, almost...cheerful. His brain tried feverishly to send signals down to his legs that screamed – "Run!" - but he couldn't move. And when the hand grabbed his upper arm from behind, he knew it was too late._

_He was turned around against his will and saw the stranger's gaze wandering slowly from his head to his feet._

"_Nice," the unknown man said._

_For the first time he dared to look at this forthright person. He was tall and seemed to be of an athletic build. And he was wearing a suit._

_The sight was too much. In panic he tried to pull his arm out of the other man's firm grip. Instead of letting go, however, the stranger used his other hand to grab his throat. The guy with the suit squeezed firmly and shoved him roughly against the near stone wall of one of the dance clubs._

_With wide eyes, he stared at his attacker. Then his gaze shifted to the other people on the streets. Some were even looking, but no-one tried to intervene. He was alone. The fingers were holding his neck with increasing pressure. He could hardly breathe._

_He noticed how the stranger began to fiddle with his own belt and he could feel the man's tongue running along his jaw line. His assaulter was so busy with getting what he wanted that he didn't realized what was going on until the blade pierced deeply into his guts. The unknown man made a strange bubbling noise and looked with surprise at his belly._

_With shaking hands, he pulled the knife out of the taller man's body. He stared at the bloody blade._

_Then he watched the man with the suit fall down on his knees._

_He let the knife drop and ran. Someone came after him. He could hear the steps behind him coming closer..._

Spencer Reid's eyes shot open. He lay in his bed panting as he stared up at the ceiling. It was dark and completely silent. The only thing he could hear was the quick beating of his heart that was echoing in his ears.

_Not again_, he thought and sighed heavily. This horrible dream had been haunting him for several weeks now – apart from slight modifications it was always the same scheme. Each time Reid ended up killing his offender. He didn't know what to make of this.

Slowly he turned his head to look at his digital clock. The red numbers told him it was four in the morning. Spencer got up abruptly and hurried towards the bathroom. Five hours had passed already since he'd had his last shower.

He felt incredibly filthy.

* * *

"We have a new case. Briefing in five," SSA Aaron Hotchner said as he walked through the bullpen of the FBI office in Quantico. It was Monday morning and most agents had already started to do their paperwork.

Quickly Derek Morgan got up from his chair, eager to leave the unfinished files on his desk. He caught up with his boss. Side by side they made their way through the bureau.

"Bad case?", Morgan asked when he noticed the serious expression on Hotch's face – even more serious than usual.

Aaron nodded. "Very."

Since there didn't seem to come any more information, Derek decided to approach the "taboo subject".

"Uhm, so when's Reid going to return from sick leave?", he asked as casually as possible. "I mean, it's been two months since..."

Aaron stopped short in front of the conference room. He sighed. They had hardly ever talked about what had happened in Las Vegas. Once a week Hotch had visited Reid at home to see how he was doing. However, his youngest agent had made it very clear that he didn't want to see anyone else, that he needed time for himself. The team leader had respected his wishes and told the others to do the same.

Hotch rubbed his tired eyes.

"He's supposed to be back next week," he told Derek quietly, not wanting to spread the news already. "Of course, he has to pass the psych evaluation first. It's on Friday."

Derek put on a small smile. "I'm sure he'll make it. Kid's tough."

* * *

Meanwhile Reid was having his second shower of the day. The first one he'd taken in the early morning hadn't been enough. It was never enough.

He stood in the small cubicle of his tiny bathroom and let the steaming hot water run down his body. He could feel it trickle from his head to his feet. Spencer knew the temperature of the water was too high. A shower shouldn't hurt.

But it was a good pain. That sort of pain that distracted him from the agony he could still feel inside him. Although the physical wounds had healed by now, Reid was sure he would always remember what it had been like.

He turned off the shower. Still he felt not nearly as clean as he wanted to be and deep inside he knew he never would be.

Reid stepped out of the cubicle and grabbed a towel. Suddenly he could hear a sound. He held his breath and listened.

Someone was knocking firmly on the front door.

Spencer put on his far too big bathrobe and wrapped it tightly around his far too thin body.

Warily he went downstairs and approached the door. He hated doors. Who knew who was lurking behind them? Could be anyone...

Another knock. Reid froze again and cursed himself for being so damned paranoid.

_Get a grip, man!_

He took a deep breath and opened the door.

Too late.

The postman had already started his car. Reid watched the mail van driving away. Heaving a sigh, he closed the door again and walked to the kitchen. He needed more coffee.

* * *

"The good thing is, we don't have to fly through the whole country," JJ started the briefing. "The murders took place in DC."

The team's media liaison took the remote of the oversized screen and started the gruesome slide show. Several pictures of bloodied bodies appeared.

"We have three victims, all male, 35 to 50 years old. They were all stabbed in the stomach or chest and bled to death before the paramedics arrived," the blond agent explained.

Prentiss looked at the photographs of the corpses. "When did it start?", she asked absent-mindedly, still examining the wounds in the victim's torsos.

"About a month ago," JJ said. "The second man was killed one week ago. Last night they found the third body."

"The time between he murders has become much shorter," Morgan stated. "If it's the same killer, he's escalating."

"That's why they called us now. They're pretty sure that it's the same killer," JJ replied and took one more look into the file.

Hotch frowned. "How so? There's a long period between the first two murders. What's the connection?"

The media liaison tucked some loose hair strands behind her ears and smiled. "For one thing all victims were killed within a half-mile radius..."

"Well, it's a high-risk area," Derek interrupted and scanned the police report once more. "Strip clubs, gambling bars..."

"True," JJ conceded. "However, some witnesses remember someone running from the scene. Since it was dark when the killings happened, no-one could give a detailed description. But they all said they saw a tall, slender young man there."

"They didn't try to stop him?", Emily asked.

"Obviously they didn't realize what had happened at first," the blond agent said referring to the witness reports.

Morgan snorted. "Or maybe they just didn't care."

Aaron was about to stop the speculations when Penelope Garcia stormed into the conference room.

Four curious pairs of eyes watched her fumbling with the technical tools below the screen.

"What is it?", Hotch finally asked.

"I just received a video from the police," Garcia began and took the remote control from JJ. "It's a recording from a surveillance camera in one of the strip clubs where the latest victim had been seen last."

They looked expectantly at the big screen. Penelope pushed the green button and started the film.

It was a typical club scene: Colorful lights breaking through the darkness of the room, lots of drunk people laughing and watching how the barely dressed women on the stage are getting completely undressed.

"Well, that's...good quality," Morgan stated with his mouth slightly open. He couldn't help but notice the talented dancers.

"Wait, wait a second," Prentiss suddenly called.

Garcia pushed freeze frame button.

Puzzled faced turned now to the dark haired woman. Emily indicated to the screen. "There in the front row. Is that Reid?"

Now everyone continued scrutinizing the frozen image.

"Oh my god," JJ exclaimed when she detected her young colleague standing right in front of the striptease girls.

"What was he doing there?", Derek asked with an utterly incredulous expression on his face. "I mean,...I thought...after, you know, after Vegas and all...," he trailed off.

"All right, everyone – stay calm," Hotch ordered firmly. He was completely dumbfounded by this video himself, but didn't want his team to start the speculation game again. "I want you to go to the PD and see if you can find any other connections between the victims," he said to Morgan, Prentiss and JJ. "And talk to the witnesses once more. Perhaps they'll remember something else."

The women nodded.

Morgan frowned. "You're not coming with us?"

"No," Aaron replied curtly and got up from his chair. "I'm going to have a chat with Reid."

* * *

A/N: Worth continuing? Or rather not? Let me know, please!


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Big thanks to all readers and reviewers! You are great. And special thanks to my beta **editor frog** ;)

Disclaimer: Criminal Minds is still not mine.

**Chapter 2**

It was only a short drive from the BAU office to Reid's apartment. It was a quiet journey. Hotch had turned off the radio in his car and focused on the roller coaster that seemed to be racing through his mind. The team leader didn't have to think about the route to his youngest agent's place. After all, he had been there several times after their return from Las Vegas. Each Wednesday he'd visited Reid to see how the traumatized man was handling the situation.

Outwardly, Spencer appeared to get along. He was withdrawn and jumpy, but considering the circumstances Hotch thought he was doing quite well. However, the senior profiler was more than surprised by the video footage they'd just watched in the bureau. Reid had never been known for his enthusiasm for night clubs, let alone strip bars. And after the events in Vegas...

Hotch's thoughts were interrupted when a familiar house came into sight. He pulled over and stopped the engine. For a minute Aaron remained sitting in his car, simply staring at the front door of Reid's apartment. He wasn't quite sure what exactly he wanted to talk to Reid about. He just had this uneasy feeling that the young profiler was not supposed to be in this bar while on sick leave.

With a sigh, Hotch climbed out of his car and went up the few stairs to Spencer's door. He rang the bell and waited. For a very long moment, nothing happened. Then he could hear the sound of footsteps behind the door.

"Reid?", Hotch called warily. "Reid, it's me, Hotch. Open up, please. I know you're there."

More seconds passed until finally the door was unlocked.

It opened only few centimeters, barely enough to reveal Reid's face.

"Hotch...," he stated slowly. "I, uhm, I didn't expect you. It's not Wednesday yet."

Aaron put on a friendly smile. "I know. May I come in nonetheless?"

Although it was a rather rhetorical question, Reid seemed to actually consider his options for a minute. Eventually he opened the door wider and stepped aside to let his boss in.

Hotch let his gaze wander through the living room. Ever the profiler, he tried to find out more about Reid's emotional status by analyzing the condition of his apartment. He noticed quickly that there was nothing noticeable. Everything was clean and neatly arranged – just like last week.

Aaron sat down on the couch and looked at his agent, who was standing near the wall, his arms wrapped around his torso. Reid was wearing too big gray sweatpants and a long-sleeved black shirt. Since it was in the middle of June and accordingly hot, this outfit appeared considerably too warm.

"So, how's it going?", Hotch asked, trying to sound as casual as possible.

Spencer didn't move an inch away from the wall.

"Everything's alright," he said and forced his arms to loosen their tight grip. He knew all about body language and how a defensive posture looked like. And he certainly didn't want to provide his superior with any evidence that in fact everything was not alright.

"So, why are you here?", Reid asked once more. "It's Monday, isn't it?"

Aaron frowned. Apparently, the younger man set great value on their weekly visiting routine.

"Yeah, it's Monday. But I was around and thought I drop by for a moment," he lied. It didn't felt like the right time to tell Reid about the case – not yet.

Spencer seemed to relax a bit. He smiled slightly and took some steps toward the couch.

He indicated to the kitchen. "Do you want something? Coffee? I just made some," he offered.

Hotch nodded. "Sure."

Although he didn't really have much time, he wanted to make Reid feel more comfortable.

Relieved to have something to do, Spencer went to the kitchen while Hotch stayed in the living room.

Suddenly the older man heard the rattling sound of breaking glass. He hurried to the kitchen and found a cursing Reid kneeling on the floor, trying to pick up the shards of what had once been the coffee pot.

The younger man glanced up at his boss. "I dropped it," he explained the obvious and looked miserably down at the mess of glass and brown liquid.

Hotch approached him slowly, careful not to step into the bits and pieces on the ground.

"Fuck!" Reid suddenly exclaimed and lifted his hand. Hotch could see the blood dripping from a deep cut in Reid's palm. Hastily he crouched down next to his subordinate and took his hand to look at the wound.

Spencer pulled away instantly and got up. "It's okay," he muttered.

With a doubtful expression Hotch moved to the kitchen sink. "You should hold it under cold water," he advised and tried to get a hold of the injured hand once again.

This time, Reid slapped away his boss' hand. "I said it's alright," he hissed. "Don't treat me like a girl. I'm not a girl!" Now he was shouting.

Hotch was completely taken aback. Where had this come from? Instinctively, he stepped back to give Reid some space. The doctors in Vegas had told him that the young man might have trouble to deal with too much closeness in the near future.

He lifted his hands in a calming gesture. "Sorry, I didn't mean to..."

"No problem," Reid cut him short. "I have another pot. I'll make fresh coffee."

Hotch watched how Spencer fumbled with the coffee filter. His hands were shaking slightly and even though the young man was wearing wide clothes, Aaron could see how thin he was. Had he lost even more weight?

"Do you eat?", the senior profiler asked.

Reid pushed the power button of the coffee machine and went to the living room, not caring about the mess on his kitchen floor anymore.

Hotch followed him, but kept his distance.

Wearily the younger man slumped down on the couch. Since he made no attempt to reply, his superior tried again:

"Reid, I asked you a question."

"Hm?" The young man glanced up. "What was it?"

Hotch frowned. He wondered if Reid had actually forgotten the question on his way to the living room or if he was just stalling for time.

"I asked if you eat regularly. You look thin."

"Uhm, of course, I eat. Why would I not?" Reid twisted his hands in his laps and looked anywhere but at Hotch.

Aaron sat down next to his agent, careful not to get too close. "Coffee doesn't count," he said gently. "You need to eat properly."

Spencer stood up abruptly. "Who are you? My mother?", he said too loudly and disappeared in the kitchen again.

Hotch groaned. He couldn't avoid the impression that Reid kept running away from him. A look at his watch told him that he should go back to work soon.

When Reid returned with two cups of coffee, Aaron decided to get to the point.

He waited for the younger man to sit down and cleared his throat. "So, have you gone out lately? Maybe met some friends..."

A puzzled expression on Spencer's face. "What friends?"

Hotch smiled weakly. _Good point_, he thought. _Well then..._

"Someone saw you in DC last night," he finally said. "More specifically, in a quite notorious strip bar called 'Pandora's Box'. I'd like to know what you were doing there, Reid."

Spencer's face went pale – even paler than it had been already.

"I...uhm...," he started slowly.

"You what?"

Reid jumped to his feet. "I'm gonna be sick," he managed to whisper before storming upstairs to his little bathroom.

Again, the older man followed – hesitantly. Wondering why a simple question was enough to send Reid over the edge. By the time he reached the top of the stairs, the retching noises had subsided. All he could hear now was the heartbreaking sound of a young man who desperately tried to prevent choked sobs from escaping his mouth – and failed miserably.

Hotch stepped into the bathroom and knelt next to Reid who was still leaning over the toilet, clinging to the porcelain bowl in the dire need of something to hold on to.

The senior profiler was at a loss. He wanted to touch Reid, to comfort him, but he didn't know how his agent would react to actual physical contact.

On the other hand, he couldn't just sit there and watch. Maybe it was the father in him that made Aaron reach out and place a gentle hand on Reid's back. The younger man tensed immediately, but didn't move away. Encouraged by this, Hotch started to rub slowly through the fabric of Spencer's shirt.

"It's okay," he said with a soothing voice. "Just breathe."

Reid nodded barely noticeable and drew some shivering breaths. After a few moments of silence, he let go of the bowl and leaned back against the close tile wall, forcing his boss to take away his hand.

"I had to try," he whispered, his eyes focused on the white floor.

"Try what?", Hotch asked quietly.

Reid glanced up at him nervously. "I had to try with...the girls and all. To see if...," he stopped, unwilling to express aloud what pathetic intention had led him into the club.

Realization hit Aaron. _Of course..._

"I have these dreams," the younger man suddenly continued. He wiped the cold sweat from his forehead and told Hotch about the nightmares that had been plaguing him for over a month now.

The senior profiler listened, grateful that Reid was talking to him at all.

However, by the time Reid had finished his detailed description, Aaron wished he would have never heard about it.

_This can't be a coincidence_, his brain reasoned.

_This has to be a coincidence_, his heart screamed.

"I'm afraid I have to go now. But why don't you come over for dinner in the evening," Hotch offered. "We could talk about...these dreams." He couldn't confront Reid with his suspicions. Not now. He was sure there was a rational explanation for this, and he was determined to find it today.

"Uhm, sure. Why not. Thanks."

The two profilers got up and moved downstairs to the front door.

"I'm gonna pick you up around seven, alright?", Hotch asked on his way outside.

"Okay. And sorry for..."

"Hey, don't apologize," the older man interrupted. "See you later."

Reid gave him a timid smile and closed the door.

Back in his car, Hotch took his cell phone and pushed speed dial number 3.

"Hotch, what's up?", the voice on the other side asked in a slightly alert tone.

"Morgan, I just talked to Reid. We might have a problem."


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Again, I wanna thank all readers and reviewers! Your feedback is really appreciated. And thanks to **editor frog** for editing.

Disclaimer: Criminal Minds is not mine.

**Chapter 3**

"He didn't do this." JJ paced the office of the DC police department. As soon as Hotch had returned from Reid's place, he'd gathered his team in a vacant room to fill them in. He'd told them about their youngest member's strange behavior and about his nightmares.

"He's got nothing to do with the murders," the blond media liaison said loudly, shaking her head to underline her statement.

The team leader stood at the window and watched his agents' reactions. "We can't ignore the facts," he stated quietly.

JJ stopped and looked incredulously at her boss. "You can't seriously believe that Spence would do something like that!"

Hotch sighed. "Reid was in the area when these men got killed and he dreamed very vividly about the crimes. Plus, he fits the personal description in the witness reports."

"The descriptions are very vague," Prentiss pointed out. "It was dark, the passersby couldn't make out any detail."

JJ nodded. "Yeah. A lanky young man – could have been anyone," she exclaimed.

"Could have been Reid." Morgan's first comment startled them all into silence.

For a moment, the other three agents simply stared at Derek who sat on a chair, leaning forward with his arms rested on his knees.

JJ was about to respond in a rather unfriendly way, when suddenly the door opened and chief detective Samuel Jacobs appeared.

"Are you finished in here?", the middle-aged man asked and looked quizzically at the profilers. He wondered was was going on with these guys. Were they talking about the case? Why did they shut him out? He was the leading detective, after all. In any case, Jacobs was glad about having a reason to interrupt the secret meeting. "One of the witnesses is here. You said you wanted to talk to her once more."

Hotch nodded briefly in Prentiss' direction. The brunet agent nodded back in understanding and led JJ outside to talk to the woman who'd just arrived. Detective Jacobs went with them to see if the interview would perhaps reveal something new.

Hotch and Morgan watched the door closing again. The team leader scrutinized his younger colleague who rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand.

"What are you thinking?", Aaron asked after a few seconds.

Morgan leaned back in his chair. "They don't understand. They don't know what happened."

Hotch knew exactly what Derek was talking about. "They're not stupid."

Aaron hadn't told JJ, Emily and Penelope what exactly had been done to Reid. He wanted to protect what little was left of the young doctor's privacy. Still, he was sure that the female agents had figured it out for themselves.

"I think they have a pretty good idea of what happened to him," Hotch stated very quietly.

Morgan arose from his seat. "But they haven't seen it."

"So you think he might have killed these men?"

"I don't know, Hotch." Derek glanced briefly out of the window, before turning back to face his superior. "I just can't get this picture out of my head. How he lay there..." He swallowed hard. "Perhaps that was the straw that broke the camel's back. Maybe...maybe he just _snapped_."

Morgan hated himself for even thinking that Reid might be a murderer, but he couldn't help it. They had dealt with so many similar cases that he had to at least consider the possibility.

Of course, Hotch knew that too.

"I'm gonna have dinner with him in the evening," he said. "Hopefully, I'll get him to open up in a more comfortable atmosphere."

Morgan shook his head slowly. "Hotch, if he actually did this..."

The funny ring tone of his cell phone cut Derek short before he could utter his thought.

"Garcia? You got something for me, baby girl?"

Morgan listened. And listened. And frowned.

"Thanks," he ended the call uncharacteristically curtly.

"What's going on?", Hotch asked, somewhat alarmed by the unjoyous expression on Morgan's face.

"Garcia checked the criminal records of the victims," the younger agent began.

Aaron interrupted. "The second victim had been convicted for sexual assault. We knew that already."

"Yeah," Morgan conceded. "What we didn't know, however, is that the other two guys were accused of rape as well. The charge was dropped in both cases because of procedural errors."

Stony-faced, Hotch took in the information. Catchwords such as _link_, _revenge_ and _motive_ flashed in the back of his mind.

"I see."

--

Meanwhile JJ and Prentiss were trying to pump some more information from the woman who'd come to the police station.

"Mrs. Rogers, we're with the FBI," the media liaison introduced, trying to keep her professional smile in place – despite of the unpleasant discussion she'd just had with her colleagues. "We know you already talked to the police about the murder, but we need you to tell us once more. Every detail you can remember, please."

The young woman nodded, inwardly cursing herself for going to the cops in the first place. She couldn't care less about this dead guy. Confronted with Feds, however, she saw no other way than to co-operate.

"Well, as I said _already_," she began, stressing the last word. "It was pretty dark, many people on the streets. They were hanging around before the clubs, you know, smoking, chatting, making out..."

Emily pressed further. "And then you noticed that something wasn't alright," she suggested, attempting to get to the point.

"Not at first. I saw the bigger guy grabbing the skinny boy. He pressed him against the wall and, well, they were doing stuff." She shrugged. "I thought they were a couple or something."

Appalled by the woman's indifferent attitude, JJ inquired: "What made you think that? You said he grabbed the younger man..."

"Duh, I guess I thought they were playing rough. What the hell do I know?"

"OK," Emily said quickly. "What happened then?"

The witness thought about it for a moment. "Uhm, I saw the kid running away. Someone started to scream. Only then I noticed the other guy lying on the ground. That's it."

"How did the, erm, the kid look like?", Prentiss wanted to know.

"As I said, it was dark. Couldn't recognize his face," the young woman stated in a slightly annoyed tone. She wondered how often she would have to repeat this story. "He was white, I think. Tall but thin and he had long hair. I noticed that when he ran away."

The female agents nodded, both not looking very satisfied.

"Can't tell you more, really," Mrs. Rogers said firmly and got up from her chair. "Can I go now? I have other stuff to do."

"Yeah, of course. Thanks for coming again," Emily replied.

They watched her leaving. "Long hair," JJ muttered absent-mindedly. "That does not bode well at all."

* * *

Reid was nervous. All day long he'd been thinking about Hotch's visit in the morning. Only one hour left and his boss would come to pick him up.

Enough time to take a shower, he thought and went to the bathroom. He'd already chosen the clothes he was going to wear in the evening. Brown cords and a gray long-sleeved shirt. And a black sweater vest over the shirt. And a jacket. Probably it would be cool outside later. He was sure he could do with a jacket then.

The more Reid thought about the dinner with his boss, the more nervous he got.

In an automatic movement, he locked the door of his bathroom and stripped down. For the fifth time today, Spencer stepped into the tiny cubicle and let the hot water wash the filth off his body.

To Reid, the shower was the best place to let his mind drift. He knew something was very wrong. Hotch's behavior, his sudden appearance without any warning and the invitation to his house – in the sum that was just odd. Reid had never been at his superior's place before. There was some special sort of intimacy in this and Spencer was scared to do or say something inappropriate.

In a week he was supposed to be back at work. Therefore, he had to prove Hotch that he was alright. He needed to pull himself together and act like a completely normal person for a change. Have a nice dinner, keep the food down and chat about trivial things. He could do that.

He stepped carefully out of the shower and put on his clothes for the evening.

Suddenly, there was a loud knock on the front door. Reid jumped. Was it seven already? Time truly flies away when you're under the shower, he mused and ran quickly downstairs.

In front of the door he stopped short. What if this wasn't Hotch knocking? What if...

_Don't be such a pussy!_

Spencer inhaled deeply and opened the door. He couldn't quite suppress a sigh of relief when he saw his boss' face.

"Hotch! You're here already?"

"Ready to go?", Aaron asked, indicating towards his car.

--

The profilers spent the short drive in silence, both too occupied with their own thoughts. Reid felt rather uncomfortable. He didn't know what to say and what to do with his hands. So he just kept fidgeting with his fingers and staring out of the window.

After about half an hour they finally arrived at Hotch's house. It was big. Too much space for a single person, Reid thought. He knew that Haley had left Aaron, and how much his colleague had been affected by the loss of his family. Right now, however, he was glad that he wouldn't be confronted with her – or with anyone else.

Much to Reid's surprise, Hotch turned out to be a fabulous cook. The younger man almost sensed some faint feeling of appetite when his boss served the delicate grilled chicken.

They didn't talk about anything in particular. Hotch had no intention to distress Reid during their dinner. He was glad that his subordinate was eating at all – even if it were only tiny bits of chicken that disappeared in Spencer's mouth.

"That was great, Hotch," the younger man said after finishing about a quarter of his meal.

Aaron smiled weakly and started to put the dishes into the sink. "I'm glad you enjoyed it. Why don't you make yourself comfortable on the couch? Want a beer?"

"Sure, thanks," Reid said and moved over to the living room. He actually started to relax a bit, though his stomach was already protesting against the unfamiliar supply of real food. Spencer sat down on the couch with his arms wrapped around his upper body and waited for the cramps to be over.

Hotch came back with two bottles of beer in his hand. He didn't want to be "the boss" at the moment. Only a friend.

He was just about to take a seat next to Reid when the doorbell rang.

"I'll be right back," Aaron murmured and left his guest alone with his beer.

Spencer considered if he should take a small sip, but decided against it for now. He didn't want to provoke his already rebellious stomach any further.

When Hotch finally came back after a very long minute, he wasn't alone.

With big eyes, Reid stared at the man who had entered the room with his boss. He was wearing a suit.

"Reid, this is Dr. Emerson," Hotch said calmly. "I thought you might wanna talk to him."

The young doctor averted his gaze from Hotch to the unknown man with the suit and back to Hotch. He had no idea what was going on here. "Talk about what? Who is this?"

"Dr. Gerald Emerson, a friend of Aaron's," the surprise guest introduced himself once more. "My special field is PTSD and its different forms. I think I'm gonna be able to..."

And while Dr. Emerson continued his introductory speech, Reid felt the delicate chicken rising up his throat again.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Thanks to all of you who took the time to leave me a review. It's helpful to know what you think. And I want to thank **Addicted** **Archangel** for doing the beta thing for me ;D

Disclaimer: Criminal Minds is not mine.

**Chapter 4**

Aaron Hotchner and Dr. Gerald Emerson stood awkwardly in front of the closed bathroom door, listening to Spencer Reid being violently sick. After the psychologist had introduced himself, the younger agent had made a run for the toilet, and reached it just in time.

"What happened to that kid, Aaron?" Emerson whispered, still a bit shocked by the unexpected overreaction he'd just witnessed.

Hotch crossed his arms and leaned tiredly against the door frame of his bathroom, while the retching noises of Reid bringing up his dinner again continued.

"I told you, he's been kidnapped and tortured," he replied weakly.

"I know what you told me," the psychologist countered. "What did you _not_ tell me?"

Wordlessly, Aaron put a hand on the older man's elbow and led him back to the living room. He didn't want Reid to overhear their conversation.

Both men sat down on the couch.

"What is it?" Emerson asked once more.

Hotch sighed and looked at his friend. He'd known Gerald for many years now and knew he could trust him with this. Nonetheless, he wasn't sure if it was the right thing to get the psychologist involved without Reid's knowledge. On the other hand, he needed to find out the truth about his youngest agent's mental condition.

"His abduction was very bad. They...assaulted him," Aaron said hesitantly. It felt like betrayal to say this.

Emerson looked at the profiler with a serious expression.

"Was he raped?"

Hotch cringed. Until now, it had never been expressed aloud. To actually hear the words, felt like a blow to the team leader's chest. Now everything seemed so much more real...

"Yes." Aaron swallowed hard. "Among other things."

The experienced psychologist drew a deep breath. "Why didn't you tell me, Aaron? I would have approached him differently if I'd have known about that."

"Known about what?" The soft voice from behind stopped the conversation abruptly.

Hotch and Emerson turned around to see a very pale Reid standing at the entrance of the living room. The young doctor's eyes flickered nervously from his boss to the unexpected – and unwanted – intruder.

The psychologist was the first to react. Slowly, he got up from the couch and took some steps towards the sick looking agent in the door frame. Emerson was careful not to look too bluntly at Spencer and not to make any sudden movements. Now that he was informed about the young man's ordeal, he knew how to act properly.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Reid. It was not my intention to distress you," he said calmly.

Spencer eyed the man before him suspiciously. He was of an average height, but robustly built and seemed to be in his late fifties. His thin hair was accurately cut. Combined with the decent glasses and the neat clothing, it gave him a rather academic appearance.

"It's okay," Reid croaked, wincing at the sore feeling in the back of his throat.

Emerson nodded. He was glad that the young man was still here and had not simply run away. The trained eyes of the psychologist noticed that Reid was repeatedly glancing at Hotch, as if pleading for an explanation.

_This is not going to work_, he realized and decided to get the senior profiler out of the way for a little while.

"Aaron, why don't you go and make some tea? I would assume Dr. Reid's stomach could do with some soothing liquid right now."

Startled, both profilers looked at Emerson, Hotch slightly irritated, Reid with a hint of panic in his eyes.

Finally, the team leader rose from his black leather couch and moved towards the kitchen. "Alright, I'll be right back." He threw one last glance at his two guests, and then closed the door behind him. Aaron had a pretty good idea what Gerald expected of him. He was willing to comply and take his time with the tea.

--

"Spencer...may I call you that?" Dr. Emerson looked briefly at Reid, who just gave a nod in reply. "OK. Don't you wanna take a seat, Spencer?"

The psychologist had made himself comfortable on the sofa already. He leaned back and watched the younger man's reaction.

Reid wanted to go home. It had been a mistake to come here in the first place. Why would his boss invite him to dinner? He'd never done this before. Of course, there had to have been a reason. Inwardly, Spencer scolded himself for being so damned stupid as to believe Hotch just wanted to spend time with him. Sure, the older man was trying to help – but not as a friend. No, he was simply a superior who was worried about the functionality of his team's walking encyclopedia.

Heaving a sigh, Reid moved slowly towards the couch. He really didn't see a way out of this. It wasn't like he could just leave. Hotch would ask questions Spencer was not willing to answer. _Damage_ _limitation_. Those were the key words. He needed to convince this shrink that he was all right.

Reid slumped down on the very edge of the couch, grateful that he didn't have to stand on his wobbly legs any longer.

"So, uhm, I didn't quite catch your name?" Spencer decided to take the offensive.

"I'm Gerald Emerson. I worked for the Bureau for almost fifteen years. That's how I met Aaron," the older man explained. "I was responsible for the annual routine psyche evaluations and worked several times with him. We stayed in contact even after I left to open a private practice."

Reid's brain switched into name search mode immediately. _Emerson_. He couldn't recall that name and mused that his own career in the BAU had started after this man had quit his job as an FBI psychologist.

"Why did you leave the Bureau?" Spencer continued his inquiry. The best way to avoid questions was to keep asking questions, he figured.

Gerald Emerson smiled knowingly. He realized what kind of strategy the younger man was trying here, but chose to go with it for a little longer.

"Well, I'm slowly getting on a bit and to work for the FBI can be rather stressful, even if you're not a field agent," he said and added with a slight chuckle: "I thought it was time to clear the way for my young, eager colleagues."

Reid put on a fake smile. He was just about to ask another question when the psychologist interrupted.

"About the vomiting, Spencer," the older man began and watched how the false grin on Reid's face faded instantly. "I take it that you do this regularly?"

* * *

Cautiously, Derek Morgan walked through the very tidy apartment that looked so very different from his own.

In the kitchen he stopped and shifted indecisively on his feet. After a few moments, Morgan grabbed his cell phone and speed dialed number 2 on his list.

"_Hotchner."_

"Hotch, it's Morgan. How are things going over there?"

"_Hard to tell. He's talking with Gerry. I'll make sure he stays for a while."_

"Good. I'm not sure what exactly I'm looking for here."

"_I don't know. Just look if you find something suspicious. And don't make a mess. He can't know about that. Not yet."_

"Hotch, I don't know if..."

"_Morgan, do it. And hurry."_

"You're the boss." Derek hung up. With a frustrated groan, he made his way to the bedroom.

* * *

"I don't wanna talk about it."

"Spencer, this is a severe problem. If you react with throwing up each time you're faced with a demanding situation, there's no way you can go back to work," Emerson said. He was aware that the vomiting itself was not the real problem, but rather a symptom of something entirely different.

"I'll be fine," Reid replied curtly and turned away from the older man.

The psychologist sighed inwardly. This was going to be a hard work.

He tried a different angle. "Aaron mentioned you're having nightmares. Do you wanna talk about that?"

Emerson could almost _see_ Reid thinking, searching for an escape route out of this compromising situation.

"It's not that bad," the young agent replied, letting his gaze drop to scrutinize his hands. "I guess it's a normal mechanism of the brain to process a suffered trauma."

The other man stared at Reid, appalled by the rational coldness resonating in that statement.

The way he talked about "a trauma" - as if this was something that happened to another person, as if it was not a personal experience at all.

The silence in the room became almost oppressive, when suddenly the door opened. With a big mug of tea in his hand, Hotch warily entered his living room.

"Sorry to interrupt," he said and put the drink on the table.

Gerald Emerson stood up. "No problem," he reassured. "I think we're done for today, anyway. Don't want to ask too much of Dr. Reid."

Aaron watched his subordinate relax noticeably. Spencer was obviously glad to be off the hook – at least for now.

He indicated to the steaming hot drink on the table. "I made peppermint tea. Take your time with it, Reid. I'll just see Gerald to the door. "

The younger profiler didn't reply, but took the mug in his hands.

His boss interpreted that as an approval and guided his friend to the front door.

"What do you think?" Hotch asked in a low voice on their way out.

The psychologist frowned. "He's far from being all right, Aaron. He hasn't processed what happened. Not in the slightest."

The senior profiler had already anticipated this answer. "What do you suggest?"

"Honestly, I think he should be in a clinic, at least temporarily" Emerson stated matter-of-factly.

At this, Hotch stopped short and looked at the specialist. The shocked expression on his face was not lost on the older man.

"It's not only because of the mental trauma," the psychologist explained further. "By the looks of him, I doubt he eats regularly. And if he does, he brings it up again. It would be irresponsible to leave him alone with these issues."

Hotch closed his eyes for a second. Reid's biggest fear was to become like his schizophrenic mother. Aaron knew that by now. So how was he supposed to get Reid into a mental clinic? _No way,_ _there is no way..._

"This is just an advice," Emerson interrupted Hotch's manic train of thought. "Talk to him and let me know what you're going to do."

Aaron gave a slight nod. "Thanks for coming, Gerry. I really appreciate this."

The men shook hands and parted. However, before Hotch stepped back into the house, his cell started to ring again.

"Morgan?"

"_Yeah."_

"What is it?"

"_You should come here, Hotch. I found something."_


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Yet another chapter. I amaze myself ;D Thank you readers and reviewers!! And very special thanks to **AA** for doing the beta thing so quickly! ;)

Disclaimer: I don't own Criminal Minds.

**Chapter 5**

Hotch and Reid sat silently in the car, driving back to the younger man's apartment. He hadn't spoken a word since Dr. Emerson had left. Reid was afraid that if he spoke, his voice would betray the anger and disappointment he felt.

It had been a trap.

The thought that his boss had lured him to his place to make him talk to a shrink was nagging in the back of his mind. He wondered why Hotch would do that. Reid was going to see a psych anyway that Friday. That was an inevitable regulation. After the events in Vegas they had to make sure he was ready for field work again. Reid was fine with that. A private and also involuntary session in Hotch's house on the other hand...

"I need your help with a case," the senior profiler suddenly announced. "I know that officially, you're still on sick leave but I'd like to hear your what you think."

Reid's mood brightened immediately.

"Sure," he said quickly, all anger forgotten for the moment. It was a big relief that Hotch wanted to talk about work. Reid smiled. Obviously his boss still valued his opinion.

"We have three male victims in DC," the older man began, his eyes remaining focused on the street ahead. "The killings started a month ago. Three weeks passed before the second murder was committed, and last night they found the third body. All killings occurred within a half mile radius..."

"Any witnesses?" Reid interrupted. His brain was in complete profiling mode right now.

"Since the murders took place in a crowded street, there were some people who saw a suspicious looking man running away," Hotch explained further. "Unfortunately, it was late and dark outside. Therefore no-one could actually see his face."

Reid nodded, taking in the provided information. "Did you find any connections between the victims?"

"Yes." The team leader cleared his throat. "We found that all three victims had been accused of sexual assault, but only of them had been declared guilty in court."

"Well, the most obvious motive would be revenge. Maybe a rape victim or..." Reid trailed off. He could almost _hear_ something clicking in his mind. His brain wanted to create a link as it used to. His subconscious tried to prevent that from happening, but it was already too late for the young doctor to ignore the obvious.

Reid swallowed hard. "Where exactly were these men killed?" he whispered, though he didn't want to hear the answer.

"Nightclub district, very close to 'Pandora's Box'. I take it you're familiar with the area?"

There was something in Hotch's voice that wasn't supposed to be there. He sounded..._nervous_.

Reid started to panic inside. He knew where this was leading. He'd told his superior about his visit in that club. He'd been there on the same night as the latest murder had been committed. And from what Hotch had told him about the case, he knew he fit the profile.

_Revenge..._

He wanted to get away from the senior profiler who had once more lured him into a trap by confronting him in a moving car.

All Reid could do was to try to get his boss to talk.

"Hotch," he started hesitantly. "You don't really believe..."

"I don't know," the older man replied curtly and noticed with a fair share of relief that they had arrived at Reid's place.

Without another word, Hotch pulled over and climbed out of his car. The other profiler remained a few more seconds in the passenger seat before slowly following his boss. As he walked towards his apartment his mind was racing at an insane speed. What was happening here?

Reid stopped short. An all too familiar SUV stood in the driveway behind his own vehicle.

"Is that Morgan's car?" he asked, causing Hotch to stand still as well. "What is Morgan doing here?"

With his mouth slightly open, Reid stared at the car.

Hotch sighed. "He's waiting in your apartment." With that he turned around again and moved further towards the entrance; the younger man stuck on his heels.

"What?!" Reid called, but didn't get an answer. "Hotch!"

In this moment, the door to his flat opened and a rather anxious looking Derek Morgan appeared.

"Come on," he simply said and moved back into the hallway of the small apartment.

Hotch followed with a grim expression on his face. "What did you find?" he asked without preamble.

The two older agents walked quickly upstairs.

Helplessly, Reid watched how his colleagues invaded his private space. He was still at a loss of what was going on. Of course, he had an idea, but...there was no way they could seriously believe he had something to do with the case.

As Morgan entered his bedroom, realization hit the young doctor. Suddenly he knew what his friend had found.

"Stop!" Reid almost yelled. It was very unlike him to raise his voice, but it did the trick.

Startled, both profilers turned around to face him.

He glanced briefly at the pile of blood-stained clothing in the corner and drew a deep breath. "I... I know what that must look like. But there is an explanation."

Hotch silently crouched down next to the compromising clothes and stared quizzically at his subordinate.

"What's this about, Reid? Whose blood is this?"

The younger man's gaze dropped to the floor. He couldn't meet his team leader's eyes.

"It's mine," he whispered.

Morgan stepped closer. "What?"

Reid didn't look up. "It's mine. My blood."

"Were you hurt? What happened, kid?" There was nothing but concern in Morgan's voice. He wanted to place a hand on his friend's shoulder, but Reid recoiled.

Hotch watched the scenario with a frown on his face. Unlike Morgan, he didn't try to approach the genius physically, aware of the traumatized agent's fear of too much closeness.

As it had become a habit, Reid wrapped his arms tightly around himself and took another step back.

Morgan was completely out of his depth. The strange behavior of his co-worker started to seriously worry him.

"What happened, Reid? Did somebody hurt you?"

"No." Very small voice.

"Then how..."

But Morgan didn't get any further.

"It's complicated," the doctor squeezed out.

"Give it a shot, kid."

"Sometimes, I have to...I mean I need to do... something..." He paused a second. How to explain this without sounding like an absolute nutcase?

He glanced up for the tiniest moment. Hotch and Morgan were gazing at him and he wanted to disappear. He didn't want their attention. He didn't want anyone to see him. He just wanted to be left alone.

Now, however, with the murders and all he saw no other way out.

Very slowly, Reid pushed up the left sleeve of his over-sized sweater and lifted his forearm.

Morgan grabbed the younger man's wrist without thinking. Reid tried to pull away, but didn't have the strength to escape his colleague's firm grip.

"You did this?" The older agent stared incredulous at the damaged arm, then at Reid's terrified face.

"Let him go, Morgan." Hotch's smooth voice didn't leave any room for argument.

Morgan released his grip and Reid pressed himself instantly against the nearest wall. He stood there for a moment, wondering what to do next.

Finally: "I...I need a shower."

And he ran frantically towards his bathroom, slamming and locking the door behind him.

Only few moments later, Hotch and Morgan heard the sound of running water.

Dumbfounded, the younger agent looked at his boss, as if the senior profiler had all the answers.

"Hotch, what the hell was that?"

"Well, obviously he has some problems." The unit chief knew himself that this was not the most insightful statement of all times, but right now he had no idea what else to say.

Morgan looked at the bloodied clothes once more. "Did you know that...?"

"Of course not!" Hotch barked. If he'd known about it he certainly would have done something about it.

But again there was this annoying voice deep inside that said: _"No, you wouldn't have done anything. You preferred to turn a blind eye on the matter from the very beginning."_

Morgan scratched the back of his head. "At least we know now that this is no-one else's blood. That's a good thing," he tried to be optimistic.

"We only know what Reid told us," his boss pointed out. "Whether we like it or not, he's still a suspect and these things... " He gestured to the clothes. "...must be analyzed in the lab. We have to make sure that this is really his blood."

Morgan groaned and closed his eyes briefly. Although he knew that Hotch was right, he didn't like this at all. They were treating Reid like an ordinary suspect. As if the kid hadn't been through enough crap already.

The team leader could see the battle that was raging inside his colleague. It was probably very similar to his own emotional turmoil, only the older agent could hide it better.

"Get an evidence bag," he simply ordered.

Morgan gave a small nod in defeat and went downstairs to get the necessary things from his car.

Hotch used the time to make a call. Never taking his eyes off the bathroom door, he dialed and listened.

"_Aaron? Didn't expect to hear from you so soon."_

"Sorry to bother you, Gerald, but I need your help."

_"Of course. What can I do for you?"_

"It's about Reid. You were right. He's not doing well. I want him in a clinic." A heavy sigh escaped Hotch's lips at this admission.

_"I'm glad to hear that. You're doing the right thing. I'll find him a place in a nice clinic. And it goes without saying that I will work with him personally."_

"Thank you. I'll call you after I talked to him."

The call ended.

Hotch looked warily at the still closed bathroom door. He couldn't hear the running water anymore. Apparently, Reid was done showering.

The senior profiler stepped closer to the bathroom. He was about to knock, when a quiet hissing noise sounded through the wooden door.

Hotch was alert. "Reid? Open up, please," he said, trying to sound calm, but the edge in his voice was unmistakable.

"Reid! What are you doing?"

"Nothing." A mutter from the inside. "Just...give me a minute."

Again, there was a pained hissing sound.

Hotch rested his forehead against the door and listened to his agent performing his hidden actions.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Thanks again for all the wonderful reviews! Feedback is love ;) And thanks to AA for beta reading so quickly! /waves/

Disclaimer: Criminal Minds is not mine.

**Chapter 6**

By the time Reid came out of the bathroom, Hotch felt like he'd aged ten years. The unit chief sat on the couch in the younger man's living room, watching his subordinate approach him with a wary expression on his face.

"What kept you so long in there?" Hotch asked, even though he was well aware of what had been going on behind the closed door.

"I showered," Reid said curtly. It wasn't a lie, after all. Since it wasn't the complete truth either, he continued quickly before his boss got a chance to speak again. "Where's Morgan?"

"Back at the office. I told him to get your bloodied clothes to the lab." Hotch settled for a sincere answer. There was no point in concealing the hard facts.

Reid started fidgeting again. "Why would you do that? I told you the blood is mine." He sounded more than a bit agitated.

The older man leaned back and gave his subordinate a scrutinizing stare. "All I have is your word, Reid. I'm afraid that's not enough in the current situation."

The young doctor looked as if he'd been slapped. "It should be," he whispered.

The disappointment and sadness in these words was not lost on Hotch. However, he didn't have much of a choice at that point. The unit chief drew a deep breath. "We need to talk about something."

Alarmed by the serious tone in his superior's voice, Reid moved slowly to the couch. He sat down as far away from Hotch as possible and looked miserably at his hands, expecting the worst.

"I talked with Gerald, uhm, Dr. Emerson," the senior profiler began hesitantly. "I asked him to find you a place in a clinic."

Reid's head snapped up. That was worse than the worst. "What?" was all he managed to squeeze out.

Hotch saw how his agent's face went from pale to death pale. He cleared his throat. "I think you need help."

--

Morgan walked through the BAU headquarter at Quantico with the plastic bag in his hands. He needed to get the sample of blood stained clothes to the lab. Normally he would have brought any evidence to the responsible police department but Hotch and he had agreed to wait for the test results before getting Detective Jacobs involved. If it was actually Reid's blood there was no need for anyone else to know about it.

With the note that only he or Hotch were to be informed about the results, Morgan handed the bag to one of the lab technicians.

"You'll get the results first thing in the morning," said the man who was working the night shift.

Morgan nodded. It was almost ten o'clock in the evening. Since there was nothing more he could do right now, he decided to call it a day and go home. He had called Prentiss earlier to see how things were going in the PD. Apparently, the chief detective hadn't been overly amused about his and Hotch's sudden disappearing.

JJ and Emily had managed to appease Jacobs by giving away a rather accurate profile of the Unsub. Of course, the policeman didn't know how eerily perfect their youngest team member fit the description.

Even the female agents were partly kept in the dark. They still didn't know what exactly had happened to Reid – at least not officially.

Morgan slumped tiredly into the seat of his car. _The kid has a motive_ – his brain screamed at him. He wasn't sure how much longer he could keep this knowledge away from his colleagues. They were a team after all and he didn't want to lie to them. Sooner or later they would find out anyway.

_I'll talk to Hotch about that tomorrow_, Morgan thought on his way home, wondering what it was his boss wanted to discuss with Reid in private.

--

"I won't go to a hospital." Reid paced his living room at about the same speed as his mind was racing, trying to make sense of his superior's words.

"Reid, I'm not blind," Hotch said quietly, trying to calm the young man. "I can see that you are struggling and I'm not willing to let it spin out of control...again."

The young doctor stopped short. "You think I'm crazy? I'm not!" He raised his voice, terrified by the idea of getting locked up with insane people. People like...mom. "I haven't done anything. You can't do this. You can't force me."

Hotch had expected to meet with resistance, but the vehemence of Reid's protest surprised him a bit. "No, I can't force you," he agreed with a certain sharpness in his voice. "But look at you, Reid. You're a nervous wreck, you don't eat and and you're even hurting yourself. I want to help you – not as your boss, but as your friend."

Reid snorted. "Friend," he repeated in a disgusted snarl and turned to leave.

"Wait," Hotch ordered in the most authoritative tone he could manage.

The younger man froze in the movement. His superior rose from the couch and stepped as close to his subordinate as he considered safe.

"Look, it's very simple," Hotch said slowly. "You are a suspect in a case we're working. I don't want to think you might have something to do with the murders but I can't ignore the facts."

Reid made an attempt to interrupt, but his boss lifted a hand to shush him. "I'm talking now."

The younger man shut his mouth again and let his gaze drop. He couldn't believe that Hotch seriously considered him as a suspect. For years, Reid had been trying to earn his team leader's respect. Now all his efforts were rewarded with distrust.

Hotch made himself clear. "I can't just leave you alone as if nothing had happened. You either go to the clinic and let Gerald help you..."

"Or?" Reid asked, although he already knew the alternative.

"Or I have to tell the head detective about you. As unit chief I'm supposed to inform him but I'm willing to hold it back if..."

"If I go to the hospital," Reid concluded.

"Yes."

The younger man smiled self-deprecatingly. "I guess that's where I belong."

"Perhaps for a little while," his boss said quietly.

A long minute of oppressive silence.

Finally Hotch spoke again. "It's late. Pack some stuff. I want you to stay at my place for the night."

Reid didn't argue. He didn't have the energy anymore.

It was a silent drive, followed by a restless night. Hotch found it hard to fall asleep. Every few minutes he could hear whimpering noises and muffled words coming from the spare room where Reid had laid down. The team leader wondered what his agent was experiencing during these seemingly very vivid dreams. Hotch stared at the ceiling of his bedroom, listening to pained sounds, hoping that he'd made the right decision before sleep finally took him.

--

The next day started as silent as the last one had ended. The two equally tired profilers sat in Hotch's kitchen, sipping coffee. The older man wanted Reid to have at least some cereals for breakfast but the doctor had declined the offer with a small shake of head. Hotch didn't bother to push him.

It was only eight in the morning when the unit chief's cell phone rang.

"Hotchner." Listening. "Ok, we'll be there in an hour. Thank you."

Reid watched his boss with an anxious expression.

"That was Gerald," Hotch explained quickly. "He has arranged something for you in a hospital where some of his patients are accommodated."

The younger man swallowed.

Hotch stood up and put the empty mugs into the kitchen sink. "We should go now."

--

Derek Morgan was on his way to the police station to meet his team members. Due to the unsettling events of the previous day, the agent hadn't slept very well. Hopefully today would bring some good news, Morgan mused as he arrived at the parking lot of the PD.

He had just locked his car when his phone began to vibrate in his pocket. A look at the number that appeared on the display caused his heartbeat to quicken noticeably.

"_Agent Morgan?"_ the voice on the other side asked as soon as he flipped his cell open.

"Yeah."

"_We have some results."_

--

With an inward sigh Hotch walked through the main entrance of the St. Lousianne's Sanatorium; Reid continuously one step behind him.

Dr. Emerson was already awaiting them in the foyer of the impressive building.

"Hello Aaron," he greeted his old friend before turning to the younger, very unhappy looking man behind the senior profiler.

"Spencer, I'm glad you made the right choice," Emerson announced in a friendly voice.

Reid didn't reply. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, turned around and watched the other patients and some staff members leaving and entering the house.

It had hardly been his choice to come here. He didn't want to be here but there didn't seem to be another option.

"Alright, let me take you to your room," the psychologist said when he got no response.

The two agents followed Emerson through the clinic hallways. The sanatorium appeared to be very nice. The walls were painted with light and warm colors and decorated with lovely pictures. The hospital was located in the middle of a big park and from the higher floors of the building one could have a glorious view.

Reid hated this place. All the nice decorations could not belie the true character of the clinic. It was a madhouse, he thought over and over. A nice madhouse, but still a madhouse. And the young agent wanted nothing more than to go home.

"Here we are," Dr. Emerson said and stopped in front of one of the light orange doors.

The three men stepped into the small room. It was plainly furnished but looked quite comfortable.

"I'll give you some time to unpack, Spencer. Our first session is at 11, before lunch. I'll pick you up then." Emerson placed a comforting hand on Hotch's shoulder and left the room.

The senior profiler wasn't quite sure what to say. He was aware that being institutionalized was the worst scenario imaginable for Reid.

"He's a good man. Let him help you," Hotch finally said, trying to sound optimistic.

Reid let his gaze wander through his prison cell in disguise and looked pleadingly at his superior. "Please don't leave me here," he said in a small voice.

For a brief moment, the older man just wanted to grab the packed bag and take the boy back home. However, the reasoning part of his brain won this round. He had to make sure Reid got the professional help he needed. It was the right thing to do.

"Don't fight them, Reid. Everyone wants to help you. I'll come to visit in the evening," he promised and turned to leave.

Reid's breath became shallow. "Hotch!" he called out, but the older man had already closed the door behind him.

The young profiler just stood in the middle of the room for a while, trying to cope with the suffocating feeling in his chest. He wondered if this was how his mother had felt when he'd sent her to the hospital.

Finally, when it became very clear that Hotch wouldn't come back to take him home, Reid sat down on the bed, still unable to tear his eyes away from the door.

He stared at the entrance, not knowing what to expect or who would come through the door next. And he felt just as scared and forsaken as he had in that damn underground maze in the Las Vegas desert.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Thank you very much all readers and reviewers! And AA for doing the beta thing! I'm afraid there's not much action in this chapter, but I hope there will be more soon. The muse decides. ;D

Disclaimer: Criminal Minds is not mine.

**Chapter 7**

Dr. Gerald Emerson had been working as a psychologist for more than thirty years. During his career he had seen all shades of PTSD and had worked with many traumatized people. Even after he had quit his job within the FBI, lots of agents kept consulting him about their problems. They trusted him; talked to him about their most private feelings – things they did not even share with their colleagues and families.

Of course, not all patients found it easy to confide in a psychologist. In some cases it took many sessions and much patience until they were finally willing to open up and disclose their fears and anxieties. One of those people was Dr. Spencer Reid who was now sitting in Emerson's office in an rather defensive posture. With his legs crossed and his arms tightly wrapped around his chest, the young agent sat on the soft orange couch. His hazel eyes darted through the room as if expecting something horrible to happen at any minute.

The psychologist leaned back in his armchair, watching the clearly uncomfortable man in front of him. Emerson wasn't quite sure where to start. Before Aaron Hotchner had left the clinic to go back to the police station, he'd told his old friend all he knew about Reid's ordeal in Vegas as well as about his first kidnapping and the problems that had followed.

The experienced psychologist was rather appalled by the amount of terrible things Spencer Reid had been through at his young age. He was all the more determined to help the young man in dealing with his issues. Of course, there was no way he could approach such heavy subjects at the very beginning of the therapy. Trust had to be earned and right now the young profiler reminded him more of a trapped animal than a willing patient.

"So, did you make yourself comfortable in your room, Spencer?" Emerson started the conversation. _Begin with something harmless..._

Reid's gaze shifted towards the older man who sat some feet away in an apparently expensive leather armchair.

"I unpacked my things," the agent replied coldly. _He's trying to lure me into talking._

Emerson nodded, pleased that his patient didn't refuse to talk at all. "I'm sorry, the room is very small. I couldn't procure a bigger one in time for your arrival, but I hope we'll be able to provide you with a more comfortable room soon." _Show him that he's not a prisoner._

Reid shrugged. "I don't plan to stay here for too long." _Damn. Don't get defensive. Play along._

The psychologist decided to ignore that. He was very well aware that the profiler had not come here willingly which was the worst start imaginable for therapy. But Emerson had promised Hotch to help his agent and he was going to keep that promise.

"Aaron told me some interesting things about you," he said. _Try a different angle._

Reid began to torment his upper arms with his finger nails. "Oh?" he pressed out. _God, what did Hotch tell him?_

Emerson went on. "Yes. He told me that you started your career within the FBI with only 21 years on your back." He could see the younger man relaxing the grip around his torso. _Talk about work. __That's the way._

Reid nodded.

"That's remarkable, Spencer. Usually they only except applicants 25 years of age and older. Did they recruit you directly from university?"

The younger man cleared his throat. "I...uhm, I attended one of Gideon's lectures about profiling," he said slowly, wondering why the shrink was so interested in his career. "We got into a conversation afterwards and...I guess he put a good word in for me. Anyway, he told me to submit my application and they accepted it."

Dr. Emerson smiled lightly. _It's not going too badly._ "And I take it he guided you then, helped you establish yourself in the Bureau."

"Of course, he...," Reid trailed off. Jason Gideon was on his top five list of things he didn't want to talk about. However, once the memories were activated he couldn't quite suppress them. They were nice memories. "He helped me," the young agent confirmed quietly.

The both thoughtful and hurt expression on Reid's face was not lost on the psychologist. He'd heard about the senior profiler's unexpected retirement. Hotch had also told him about Gideon's role in the Las Vegas case.

"He means a lot to you, doesn't he?" Emerson asked softly.

Reid started digging his nails into the skin of his upper arms again. "He used to."

* * *

"So the blood is Reid's?" Hotch asked as soon as he entered the office in the DC police department. Morgan had already called him on the phone to inform him about the test result.

"Yes, they analyzed several samples from different clothes. It's all his and..."

"Wait, wait," Emily Prentiss interrupted the rushed report. Until then Morgan had refused to tell her or JJ anything at all. The women were still completely in the dark about what had happened at Reid's place. "What blood? What tests?"

Before her colleague got a chance to answer, the door opened and JJ stepped into the otherwise vacant room. "Hotch! Thank God you're here," she exclaimed, clearly relieved. "Jacobs is getting really upset. It's his case after all. He wants to know what's going on."

"So do I," Prentiss interjected. "What happened?"

The two female agents looked quizzically at their teammates.

The brunette woman probed further. "What blood were you talking about?"

JJ's eyes widened. "Blood? What blood?"

Morgan drew a deep breath. "Alright, look, it's..."

"Stop." Hotch's piercing voice ordered.

The younger man turned at his boss. "Hotch, we have to tell them. We're a team. They need to know."

The unit chief rubbed his tired eyes.

"What do we need to know?" JJ pressed.

Hotch sighed. "We found bloodied clothes in Reid's apartment."

Prentiss frowned. "Was he injured?"

"You could say that, yes," her superior agreed. There was no need to tell them that the young agent had caused the wounds himself. "We had to get the blood tested to make sure it was really his."

The brunette agent's frown deepened. "Why?"

Noticing the exhausted expression on his boss' face, Morgan stepped in. "Reid was at the crime scene when the murders happened, remember?"

Both women nodded, still unsure of where this was going.

"Well, therefore we had to at least consider the possibility..."

"Wait," Prentiss cut him short. "You're not actually considering him a suspect?"

Hotch looked at her with a serious expression.

JJ shook her head. "No, Hotch! Spence would never hurt anyone. You know that!"

"And...," Prentiss continued. "...he has no motive. That doesn't make sense at all."

"It does," Morgan insisted, earning himself another stern glare from his superior.

"Tell me the profile," Hotch suddenly said to Prentiss.

The dark haired agent frowned. "You know the profile!"

He simply stared at her.

She sighed. "Alright. Well, given the witness reports we're looking for young man, probably mid-twenties to mid-thirties, slender, long hair," Prentiss recalled. "We also know that the victims have all either been convicted or at least been accused of sexual abuse which led us to the presumption that the Unsub has been abused himself, perhaps even raped." She paused to collect her thoughts. "In this case the motive would be revenge. Reid doesn't fit that description!"

Hotch looked briefly out of the window, before turning to face his team members again.

"He does."

* * *

Emerson and Reid were sitting at a table in the dining room of the St. Lousianne's Sanatorium. The psychologist had suggested they have lunch together after their first session. Of course, Reid hadn't seen a way to decline without drawing even more attention to himself.

A middle-aged, well-rounded woman with a pretty face approached the table. The tag on her yellow tunic said "Betty".

"What would you like, gentlemen?" she asked, a twinkle in her eyes at the sight of Emerson. He was a well-known guest psychologist in the hospital.

The two men looked down at the menu of the day. They could choose between three different meals.

"Erm, I think I take the salmon with fries and vegetables," the older man said after a while. "And please be unstinting with the salt." He gave the Betty a winning smile and turned his focus on Reid.

"Spencer, what do you want?"

The younger man thought about it a moment. Fish was definitely out of the question and he had his doubts that he could stomach the chili very well.

"I'll settle for the vegetable lasagna," Reid decided and put the menu down on the table.

"You got it," Betty said and disappeared into the kitchen.

The profiler glanced around. Most of the tables in the big hall were occupied by people in informal clothes. _Patients_, Reid mused. There were also some staff members sitting together, enjoying their food. He looked out of the big window. It appeared to be a nice summer day. The sun was shining and only some harmless feathery clouds were sprinkling the azure sky.

It took only a few awkward minutes until Betty returned with two plates in her hands.

She placed the hot meals carefully on the table.

_Good grief_, Reid thought as he eyed the ordered lasagna. It was huge. He couldn't even tell the color of the plate because it was covered with food.

"I, uhm, I don't think I can eat it," he said with a small voice.

Emerson glanced up from his own lunch and gave Reid an encouraging smile. "You don't have to eat all of it. Just as much as you like." He was aware that the agent was way too skinny and needed to eat regularly. On the other hand, the psychologist knew from experience that forcing someone to eat would only bring new problems.

Reid picked up his fork and took a few small bits. The lasagna smelled really good and tasted even better. The profiler felt the food settling in his stomach and all he wanted to do was run to his room and into the bathroom.

He laid the fork down and took a sip of water. "I'm tired," he lied. "I'd like to rest a bit in my room if that's alright."

Emerson looked at the almost untouched meal before his patient and sighed. "Sure," he said. "We'll go for a walk later. It's nice outside." It wasn't a suggestion.

Reid nodded and rose from his chair.

The psychologist watched the slim person walk away. He knew exactly what the young man wanted to do in his en suite room. There was no use in intervening. Not this time. It was the first day for Reid in the clinic and no-one could expect any miracles to happen so soon.

Emerson took his cell phone and dialed a number.

"It's Gerald," he said when the other person answered the call. "Is there any way to locate Jason Gideon? I think he might be the key here," the psychologist stated, his eyes still looking at the door where Reid had disappeared.

He listened to the voice on the other side.

"I see."


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Thanks dear readers and reviewers! You keep me writing. Thanks to AA for beta reading!

Disclaimer: I don't own Criminal Minds.

**Chapter 8**

"Agent Hotchner! Where are you going?!" There was a hint of hysteria in Detective Jacob's voice as he called after the chief of the BAU who was once more on his way out of the police station.

Hotch stopped and turned around on the doorstep. "We gave you an accurate profile," he said, sounding more than a bit stressed out. "That's all we can do. It's your job to find the killer."

The policeman looked at him with a somewhat dumbfounded expression. "But...I thought you were gonna help us out here?"

The senior profiler sighed. "I have to go back to our headquarters for a while. My agents Prentiss and Morgan will help you going through the video records again. Agent Jareau is currently preparing a press conference." Hotch gave a slight nod in JJ's direction. The media liaison got the hint and moved quickly towards the detective, putting a smile on her face and a hand on his arm.

"I need your help with some organizational issues," she said quickly, gently turning the detective away from Hotch. "We also need to discuss how to distribute your men on the streets tonight."

Still looking rather confused, Jacobs nodded and hesitantly followed the pretty blond woman that touched him ever so lightly on his arm.

Hotch used the moment of distraction to discreetly leave the police station. He needed to talk to Garcia.

* * *

The park around the St. Lousianne's Sanatorium was huge and provided many different routes to ramble through the woods and over the meadows. For the patients of the clinic it was like a green haven; a place to take a break from everyone and everything; it offered a brief escape from the emotional exertions of therapy.

However, sometimes the psychologists decided to relocate their sessions to the park. Gerald Emerson used to do that very often if the weather permitted it. From experience he knew that many patients felt more relaxed and less trapped in the wide open area and because of that found it easier to open up during a walk. A simple physical movement like walking gave them the possibility to let off some negative energy and focus on the real problem.

That's why Emerson had concluded that a session in the park would be the right thing for Reid. For about ten minutes the two men had been silently walking side by side through the light woods – simply enjoying the pleasant warm breeze of the nice June afternoon.

"Did you get some rest after lunch?" the older man asked as they turned onto another footpath that led to a flowery meadow.

Not wanting to destroy the built up peacefulness with an upsetting conversation, Reid replied curtly: "Yes."

"Am I right in assuming that you usually don't get much sleep at night?" Emerson continued, ignoring his patient's obvious wish to remain silent. Sooner or later they would have to touch delicate subjects, and the psychologist figured that it would be in Reid's best interest not to drag it out longer than necessary.

The young profiler just kept walking, looking anywhere but at the shrink. "I'm fine."

"Really?" Emerson countered. "Aaron told me about your nightmares."

Reid stopped. "Great," he said in a suddenly very upset tone. "If he told you everything already, what do you wanna hear from me now?"

The psychologist looked with a curious expression at his patient. "Are you mad at Aaron?"

The agent just glared at him. "What do you think?!"

"That's irrelevant, Spencer. I want to know what you think," Emerson shot back. Of course, he would never get agitated during a session himself, but he had to make clear that he was no-one to play mind games with – not even for genius Dr. Spencer Reid.

The younger man started to pace the narrow path. Apparently he felt the urge to move and since he didn't make any attempt to run away, Emerson decided to let him keep moving.

"Hotch lured me into a trap!" Reid blurted, out of the blue. "He said he would make dinner and suddenly you were there and..."

"I agree that it wasn't the best way to handle the situation," the psychologist stated matter-of-factly. He had already told his old friend that it hadn't been helpful for future therapy to ambush his subordinate like that. "But despite his somewhat misguided means, he did the right thing. You know that, don't you?"

Reid shook his head violently, still running in small circles. "No, he had no right to do that! I can deal with things on my own. I'm not crazy and I do not belong into a nuthouse!" He was almost shouting at this point. Until now there had been no time for him to comprehend the events of the past two days. However, now that Reid found himself arguing with a shrink in the park of a mental institution, the situation became painfully clear to him.

With a quieter voice he went on: "I appreciate what you're trying here, Dr. Emerson..."

"Gerald," the psychologist interjected.

Reid nodded. "Gerald, I know you're trying to help but I really don't need that." He stopped pacing and used his right hand to wipe away the beads of cold sweat that had appeared on his forehead. "I don't wanna be here, I...I don't..." The young profiler started to sway as his legs seemed to become wobblier with each second passing.

Emerson frowned and moved cautiously towards his patient. "Spencer?"

"I don't feel so good," the profiler whispered, tucking long strand of hair behind his ears with shaking fingers. "I think...I'm gonna...fai..."

"Whoa!" the psychologist exclaimed and put his arms around the thinner man who was about to fall to the ground. Swiftly he supported Reid to the nearest wooden seat that was luckily only a few feet away.

The older man sat down next to his patient, watching him, trying to assess the young agent's condition.

"Keep your head down," he advised calmly and put a hand on Reid's back, causing him to lean forward. "Breathe."

With his face almost on his knees, the profiler drew some deep breaths. He felt seriously sick. It wasn't the usual post-eating sickness, though. He didn't feel the urge to throw up. Actually, he didn't feel anything at all. It was as if life had been drained out of him from one minute to the next.

Emerson kept rubbing slowly over Reid's trembling back, making a mental note to get the kid checked out properly as soon as possible. "Just breathe," he repeated.

When finally the younger man leaned back against the backrest, the psychologist brought out a small bottle of ice tea from his satchel and handed it to his patient. "Drink," Emerson said.

Reid took a few sips of the cold liquid, thankful for the soothing effect it had on his still sore throat.

After a few minutes of silence, the older man spoke again. "Why do you fight this so desperately, Spencer?" he asked gently. "I know you want to appear strong; you want to show your team that you can handle the situation by yourself." He paused. "But strength is also to know when to ask for help."

The profiler looked down at the bottle in his hands. He didn't reply.

Emerson tried again. "Do you want to go back to work?"

At this, Reid glanced up at the man beside him. "Of course," he said in a hoarse voice.

"And you do understand that there is no way for you to go back there in your current condition?" the older man continued.

Reid started fidgeting. "I, uhm..."

"Please be honest."

The agent sighed resignedly. "Yes."

Emerson smiled slightly. "Good. That's a start. Aaron told me you're a valuable member of his team. He wants you back at work as soon as possible, Spencer. And I promised him to make that happen."

Reid nodded and almost returned the smile.

"Alright, let's go back," the psychologist suggested. "Do you think you can walk?"

The younger man rose slowly from the seat. His legs still felt like jelly, but not nearly as shaky as before. "Yeah, I think so."

With careful steps the two men went back to the Sanatorium.

* * *

A shrill shriek escaped Penelope Garcia's lips as the door to her small chamber called an "office" was forcefully opened. The stern look on Hotch's face made her want to shriek again, but this time she just swallowed and suppressed further noises.

"Sir?" she merely asked.

Hotch stopped close behind the technical analyst's chair and stared into the screen of her computer.

"Garcia, I need you to find an address for me. It's urgent," he explained quickly.

The blond computer specialist sighed with relief. Apparently the serious expression on her superior's face was not directed at her. "Sure thing, boss. Addresses are my specialty." She held her fingers close over the keyboard, ready to work some magic for her chief.

Hotch cleared his throat. "Jason Gideon." Gerald had told him that bringing back Reid's mentor might be important in order to help the genius heal. The team leader himself couldn't really see how Gideon's appearance could be of any use in helping Reid's recovery, but if the experienced psychologist thought otherwise – then so be it.

Garcia had expected anything but to hear the retired profiler's name. "Erm, Sir?"

"I need Gideon's location, Garcia," Hotch urged.

"Of course, I will try but I, uhm, I guess he doesn't want to be found...," she trailed off, feeling incredibly uncomfortable right now. She considered herself not in the position to talk about anything regarding Gideon. Garcia could remember vividly how Gideon had chased after that insane Frank guy and how broken the gifted profiler had appeared to her. She'd always felt somewhat uncertain in the senior agent's presence and after all the crap that had happened in Vegas...

"Garcia, please," Hotch said, more firmly this time. "It's for Reid."

Instantly the tech girl turned around to her computer again. "Yes Sir," she replied hastily and started to do what she did best.

* * *

Exhausted, Reid arrived at his room in the hospital. The walk back had taken almost an hour. They'd had to stop every now and again so the profiler could sit down and rest for a minute.

All he wanted to do now was to take a hot shower and lie down again.

He opened the door and stepped in, heading straight to the bathroom. Since there were no windows in there, he fumbled for the light switch next to the door frame.

The blinding halogen lamps went on and highlighted the person that was already standing in the bathroom, leaning with his back against the white tiles.

Reid froze. He stared at the young dark-haired man who seemed so very familiar yet appeared to come from another world.

"Jase?" was all Reid managed to squeeze out.

A smile spread on the unexpected guest's handsome features. He pushed himself away from the wall and approached the person he'd been looking for for so long.

Only inches away from Reid he stopped and licked his lips. "I missed you, Matt."


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Thanks again for all the nice feedback! It's very much appreciated ;) And thanks to AA for beta reading!

Disclaimer: Criminal Minds is not mine.

**Chapter 9**

"You're not supposed to be here." He stared with an incredulous expression at the intruder whose face was only inches away from his own.

"I wanted to see you so badly, to hear your voice, taste your skin..."

"You're supposed to be in prison." He tried to back away but for some reason his legs wouldn't move.

"Don't say that, Matt. I was a victim just like you."

"No, no. Y...you enjoyed it...you..."

"I did." One more step forward. "And so did you."

* * *

"What about him?" Detective Jacobs asked, his finger indicating at a young man on the screen.

"No, he's really short. Look at the others around him. They're all taller," Prentiss said.

JJ nodded her agreement. "He also seems a bit too old to fit the profile."

After the press conference the female agents and the head detective had started to examine the video footage from the night clubs where the victims had been last seen. They were searching for potential suspects in the crowd.

The dark haired profiler was about to change the tape when Jacobs suddenly called: "Wait! Wait a second!" He leaned forward and looked closely at the screen.

"This guy," he exclaimed, aiming his index finger at one of the visitors in the club who stood slightly away from the other people. He was tall and very slim, his long hair tucked behind his ears. And he wore a sweater vest.

JJ and Prentiss exchanged alert glances behind the policeman's back.

"He fits your description perfectly!" the detective announced excitedly.

"Uhm, I'm not sure...," the media liaison replied hesitantly, staring at her colleague with a pleading expression.

_Do something, Emily..._

The female profiler cleared her throat. "Yeah, according to the profile the Unsub is 25 to 35 years old. He appears to be younger."

Jacobs looked doubtfully first at Prentiss, then back at the screen. "You can't tell for sure," he finally decided. "I'll check him out."

JJ felt her heart skip a beat. "Wait, we..."

But the detective had already left the room.

The blond agent turned to face her older teammate. "What do we do now? It won't take long until he figures out Reid's identity," she said quietly, careful not to raise her voice – despite her inner turmoil.

Prentiss was at a loss. "It was just a matter of time, I guess." She sighed. "We should call Hotch."

* * *

The team leader was already on his way to the St. Lousianne's Sanatorium. He'd promised to visit Reid in the evening to see how his youngest team member was getting along in the hospital. And Hotch wasn't alone. Morgan had insisted on accompanying his boss. Their genius would need all the support he could get, the younger profiler had reasoned.

At first, the unit chief hadn't been very fond of the idea to take his colleague along. However, Reid was mad at Hotch for hospitalizing him anyways. Perhaps, the senior profiler mused, Morgan's casual attitude would help the young doctor to handle the situation. Perhaps Reid would respond better to a more coequal person than to his superior.

Silently the two profilers drove towards their destination – Morgan at the wheel, Hotch in the passenger seat. The unit chief could almost feel his subordinate's brain working. The younger man had kept quiet until now but Hotch knew it wouldn't last much longer.

"You know Reid didn't kill these people, right?" Morgan suddenly blurted.

Hotch smiled weakly. _There we go._

"He fits the profile," he countered wearily.

Morgan glanced briefly at his boss. "Come on, Hotch. It's Reid we're talking about here. The kid wouldn't harm a fly." He drew a deep breath and tightened his grip around the steering wheel. "Besides, the blood we found was his. That should count for something."

The team leader groaned inwardly. What was he supposed to say? Of course, he didn't think Reid had something to do with the case. At least he didn't want to think so.

"Sure, it counts for something, Morgan. But it doesn't prove anything. He was still in the area when the murders happened. He matches the description. He has a motive. Think about it. If we didn't know him..." Hotch stopped briefly to gather his thoughts. "He would already be sitting in an interrogation room."

"Granted," Morgan replied through gritted teeth. "But the thing is, Hotch, we _do_ know him. And I refuse to believe that he would hurt someone willingly. Not in a billion years."

The older man stared briefly at his team member, and then turned his head to look out of the window.

"I hope you're right," he said slowly. "Let's just see how he's doing in the clinic."

* * *

"I don't want that." A breathless whimper.

A warm hand touching the side of his neck ever so lightly; fingers caressing the soft skin, stroking gently over the pulsating artery.

"Yes, you do." A firm low voice.

Now lips where the fingers had been. Kissing the sensitive spot just below the ear. Strong hands gripping bony shoulders.

"I know you want it." A statement. Again, no doubt resonating in the words.

A final whisper: "Please, don't..."

* * *

Morgan was just looking for a parking place in front of the sanatorium when Hotch's cell phone rang.

"Prentiss? What is it?" the team leader asked.

He listened, his face becoming gloomier with each second passing. Morgan had parked his car and turned off the engine, watching his boss' expression with an uneasy feeling in his gut.

"Alright. Don't intervene, Prentiss," the senior profiler ordered. "There's nothing we can do right now. I'll deal with Jacobs when I'm back." With that he hung up and climbed out of the SUV.

A confused Morgan followed him on his way to the entry of the large building.

"What's wrong?" the younger man asked, trying to catch up with his superior who paced quickly through the parking lot.

"Jacobs saw Reid on the video record. He thinks he might be the Unsub and has started to investigate already."

Morgan's eyes widened. "God, Hotch, that's..."

"Look," the senior profiler interrupted and stopped short, facing his subordinate. "I will take care of this later. I don't want Reid to worry about the investigation. So calm down, Morgan, or wait in the car." And he moved on towards the entrance.

The younger man swallowed. Since waiting in the car was out of the question, he inhaled deeply, clenched and unclenched his fists several times and pushed the thoughts about the case back into a far corner of his mind. Hotch was right, he noted inwardly. There was no need to alert Reid. The kid could do without more bad news.

Dr. Emerson was awaiting the two profilers at the check-in desk in the entrance hall of the clinic. Hotch had called him earlier to inform him about the time of their arrival. Both men had agreed that the psychologist should be on hand during the visit. After all, no-one could predict how Reid would react to the person who had brought him to the hospital.

The trio went upstairs to Reid's room.

"I think we made some progress today," Emerson said as they arrived on the second floor. "He realized that he needs help to deal with his issues."

"That's a good thing," Morgan stated.

"It is," the doctor agreed. "I'm worried about his physical condition, though. I'm afraid he has developed an eating disorder. He's very weak."

"But you can help him here, right?" The younger profiler looked expectantly at the psychologist.

Emerson nodded. "I'm optimistic in that regard. Basically, it's just a symptom of his distressed emotional state. We can keep a close eye on him here and hopefully prevent him from going down that self-destructive road any further."

The three men then arrived at Reid's room. Dr. Emerson knocked once. No reply. He opened the door and peered cautiously inside. No patient to be seen.

The psychologist motioned Hotch and Morgan to come in. They looked around. Not many places to go in the little room.

The sound of running water from the inside of the bathroom.

"Seems like he's taking a shower," Morgan stated the obvious.

The door to the bath was half-open. Which was odd. After all, Reid had always been known as a very private person – even before Vegas.

Emerson knocked firmly against the door. "Spencer?" he called loud enough to be heard despite the splashing sound of the water. "Are you alright in there?"

Waiting.

No reaction.

The doctor knocked again. To no avail.

"Spencer, I'm coming in now," Emerson said quietly. Although invading his patient's private space was the last thing he wanted to do, he still had to make sure Reid was alright. He knew the young man was in an unstable state of mind and tended to self-harming behavior. Therefore, the psychologist couldn't just stand outside and wait.

"Wait here," he murmured in Hotch's and Morgan's direction and stepped decisively into the bathroom.

What Emerson saw then wasn't quite what he'd expected.

Reid sat half-dressed on the bottom of the shower cabin with his knees drawn to his chest and his arms tightly wrapped around his legs. He had his forehead rested on his knees and seemed to be oblivious to the cold water that was hailing down on him.

With a deep frown on his face, Emerson approached the younger man who didn't appear to notice that another person had entered the room.

The psychologist leaned forward into the stall to turn off the water, trying not to get too wet himself. He crouched down in front of his soaked patient. Reid was only wearing his boxer shorts and a shirt with the buttons undone.

"Spencer, look at me, please," he said in a gentle yet firm tone of voice.

Slowly, very, very slowly, Reid lifted his head. He stared at the man before him with huge, frightened eyes.

Emerson was appalled by that look. Sheer terror was clearly written in the young agent's face.

"What happened, Spencer?"

Reid's eyes darted through the room. When he was sure that no-one else was there, he focused on the psychologist.

"He was here," Reid whispered and tightened the grip around his legs - an attempt to make himself smaller. Maybe he could just become invisible.

"Who was here?" Emerson inquired. He had no idea what was going on. Their session in the afternoon had gone quite well and now...this.

In a nervous gesture, the young profiler shoved some wet strands of hair out of his face.

"Jase. He...he..." But no more words wanted to come through his mouth. Instead Reid lowered his head again to hide away from the world.

_Jase?_

Dr. Emerson couldn't recall the name. He would have to ask the other profilers about that. For the moment, there were more urgent things to do.

The psychologist moved to the ajar door. He opened it just enough to have a look at the two agents outside. "Spencer needs dry clothes," he said calmly, motioning to the wardrobe.

Morgan nodded and grabbed a shirt, sweatpants, underwear and socks from the small pile of clothes Reid had brought to the hospital.

He handed them over to the doctor who took them wordlessly and disappeared into the bathroom again.

The profilers stood and watched the door being closed again. They didn't talk.

It seemed to take en eternity until Emerson and a very pale looking, but dry Reid appeared in the door frame.

"Reid? What's going on man?" Morgan asked immediately.

His younger colleague didn't reply. He kept his head down, careful not to look at anyone.

Emerson led his patient to the bed and let him sit down, lifting his free hand to shush the visitors. Reid hadn't said a word during the whole un- and re-dressing procedure. The psychologist had been aware of the young man's discomfort and fear. He figured that an interrogation was not exactly what his patient needed right now.

"Aaron, can I talk to you in my office for a second?" Emerson asked quietly.

The unit chief nodded his agreement. "Morgan, stay here with him," he ordered and left the room with the psychologist.

Somewhat dumbfounded, Morgan watched his boss and the shrink disappear. He turned around to look at his surrogate kid brother who sat miserably at the edge of the bed, staring down at his hands.

"Do you mind?" he asked and motioned to the place beside Reid. He felt like sitting down now and there were no other seats in the room.

The younger man merely shrugged. Heaving a sigh, Morgan slumped down next to his team member, unsure of what to say or do next.

It was then that Reid lifted his head and looked at his older colleague with a desperate and strangely _pleading_ expression on his face. As if asking for...what? Understanding? Compassion? Comfort?

For a brief moment, Hotch's warning that Reid couldn't deal with physical closeness flashed through Morgan's mind.

But then again...

"Ah, to heck with it," he mumbled and put his right arm around the younger man's shoulder, pulling him close.

Reid let it happen. He couldn't struggle anymore. With his head against his teammate's strong shoulder, he closed his eyes and rested a bit. Just for the time being.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** Sorry, a short chapter. I'm not so well, but Friday is posting day so here it is. Thanks to AA for beta reading.

And thank you all dear readers and reviewers! Hope you like the chapter. Oh, and I think I should put a warning here for some adult language at the end. LOL

Disclaimer: Criminal Minds is not mine.

**Chapter 10**

Wordlessly, Hotch closed the door of Emerson's office. He turned around to look at his old friend who had already taken a seat behind the desk.

The psychologist gestured Hotch to sit down as well. Both men were wearing very serious expressions.

In an automatic motion, the senior profiler smoothed the front of his jacket with his hands before slowly lowering himself onto the chair on the other side of the desk.

"So what happened?" he asked straight away, wondering what had gone on in the small bathroom.

Emerson interlaced his fingers on the wooden surface of the table.

"Who is Jase?"

Hotch blinked once. He cleared his throat. "What?"

"Jase," the psychologist repeated. "According to Spencer a person named Jase has paid him a visit."

The profiler needed a few seconds to take in the bit of information he had just been handed. "That's impossible," he said very quietly. It was barely more than a whisper.

"Who is he?" Emerson pressed, somewhat alarmed by the sudden paleness of his friend's face.

"That's not...I mean..."

"Aaron."

Hotch rubbed his eyes. Of course, he knew who Jase was. Not only from the interrogation with Stuart, but also from the video footage. He'd seen the young man's work. He'd seen what the guy had done to Reid. Very, very dark memories were associated with that name. Memories Hotch wanted to push away as far as possible.

"Aaron?" The psychologist leaned slightly over his desk, trying to make eye contact with the other man. "What is it?"

Finally Hotch looked up and met Emerson's gaze.

"Jase was...one of Tristan Stuart's employees," he started very hesitantly. "I told you about Stuart, I think? Reid's captor."

The psychologist nodded reassuringly. "So what did this Jase have to do with Reid?"

Hotch swallowed. He couldn't say it. No way.

When the unit chief made no attempt to reply, Emerson spoke again.

"Aaron, I know this is hard for you." He sighed. "But as his superior you have to face the facts. If _you_ can't even say these things, how can you expect him to accept what happened to him and talk about it?"

Hotch nodded weakly. He knew Gerald was right. If he wanted to help Reid he had to overcome his own feelings of guilt and failure.

He drew a deep breath. "Jase was one of Reid's abusers. He did...things to him."

"Okay," Emerson said. He decided to leave it there. He didn't need all the details. "So is there any possibility that he could have come here?"

Hotch thought about it a minute. He didn't know what exactly had happened to Stuart's staff members. He was sure most of them were in prison.

"I don't think so," he concluded. "But we have to be sure. I'll check it out."

"Good," the older man said with a slight smile. "Spencer was very upset. I suggest we give him a sedative for the night."

The profiler shook his head, not to dismiss the idea, but at the thought of Reid's reaction. Certainly the young agent would be feeling like he was taking a further step down into his own personal hell – not to mention his recently overcome, half secret drug issue.

"Do you really think this is necessary?"

Emerson rose from his armchair. "He needs to rest, Aaron." And as if reading Hotch's mind: "We're not talking about psychotropic drugs here. Only a mild sedative so he can find some sleep."

Reluctantly Hotch nodded his approval. "If you deem it the best."

* * *

Detective Samuel Jacobs ran like hell through the police station.

"Where are the agents?" he called to one of the officers in the guardhouse.

The younger policeman looked at his boss with a slightly dense expression.

"Where are they?!" Jacobs almost shouted as he repeated his question.

The officer pointed with a trembling hand to another room.

The detective stormed instantly into said office where JJ and Prentiss were still analyzing the witness' reports – despite the late hour of day.

"What the hell are you playing at?" Jacobs blurted into the surprised women's faces.

Prentiss was the first to react to the unexpected invasion. "Excuse me?"

Forcefully the policeman dumped the file he'd been carrying on the desk. "The guy on the video. He's a colleague of yours!"

The female agents glanced inconspicuously down at the paper. Reid's picture was clearly visibly affixed to the front page. Apparently, Jacob's research had been successful.

"Well?!" the detective exclaimed, pressing for an answer.

"There's no need to shout," JJ managed to get out, trying to put on her winning smile. "I'm sure we can find a way to..."

"Oh, I've already found a way," Jacobs cut her short. "You will get this agent here immediately."

JJ wanted to say something soothing in return, but Prentiss kept her silent by placing her hand on the younger woman's shoulder.

"I'm afraid that's not possible," the dark haired profiler replied in her most reasoning tone.

Jacob's face turned into an even darker shade of red than before. "What does that mean? Why not?"

Prentiss bit her lip. "It's, uhm, complicated. We should really wait for Agent Hotchner. He will explain."

The head detective looked around. "Where the heck is he anyway?"

* * *

After what seemed like ages the door to Reid's hospital room opened. The young profiler instantly tensed up and pulled away from Morgan's comforting shoulder.

Hotch stepped into the room – alone. He looked very serious, almost..._angry_.

Reid didn't like that expression. He watched his superior closing the door and turning around, crossing his arms before his chest. Hotch simply kept staring at him, making the younger agent become more and more uncomfortable.

"Where...where is Gerald?" Reid asked very quietly. He didn't feel like talking at all, but it was better than bearing the oppressive silence that had engulfed the room before.

"Not here," Hotch replied curtly. Coldly.

Reid didn't like that tone of voice. It wasn't like Hotch. His brain tried feverishly to assess the situation. Had he done something wrong?

_What's going on?_

Suddenly he felt a movement beside him. He looked and saw Morgan getting up and joining his boss at the entrance. Now both men stood there, glaring.

"What...?" Reid wanted to ask why they were acting so strange, but didn't get far.

"I heard Jase was here," Hotch stated. "I hope you were having fun."

The young profiler stared at his superior with wide eyes. "Wh...what?"

"Jase, the whore. Did you ask him to come here? Did you pay him for his service?" Hotch unfolded his arms and took a step closer to his subordinate. The senior profiler didn't blink. Not even once.

Reid was speechless. He couldn't understand why Hotch was talking to him like that.

_What did I do?_

"Spill it, pretty boy," Morgan interjected. "What did he do? Did he jerk you off, give you head or did he just fuck..."

"No!" Reid screamed. "I...I didn't..."

"What?" Hotch asked. And there was pure malice in his voice. "Stop stuttering, kid!"

Reid stood up, looking at his boss with a pleading expression. "Y...you know I...I didn't want it." He was close to tears now, but managed to keep them back. For now.

"Oh, come on, Reid!" Morgan exclaimed. "We know you enjoyed every single moment with him."

The younger man pressed his palms tightly against his ears. He couldn't stand the verbal onslaught any longer. So he just covered his ears and started mumbling "no, no, no, no, no..."

"We saw it, remember," Morgan continued mercilessly.

"No, no, no, no, no..." Endless muttering.

"Yes, Reid. Hotch and I, we saw what he did to you and what you did to him. And we could see in high quality how you got off over and over and over..."

"NO!" A scream.

And suddenly everything was gone. Almost. It was dark and silent and only a single shadow was there next to Reid's bed.

The young profiler sat upright in his bed, breathing heavily. His pajama was stuck to his skin, cold sweat covering his whole body. Reid wiped some beads of sweat off his forehead and shoved wet strands of hair out of his face.

His eyes were fixated on the unmoving shadow beside him. So very close.

"Matt?" A gentle, painfully familiar voice.

Reid froze. _No._ _Not again. He's not real. He can't be._

"You had a bad dream, Matt. It's okay now."

"What are you doing here?" the young agent whispered.

A painfully familiar hand reaching out, touching his cheek ever so lightly. Caressing. "I came to get you out of here," Jase said in a quiet, assuring tone.

Reid made a halfhearted attempt to push the soothing hand away. "What do you mean? I can't just..."

Now a slender finger on his lips, shushing him. "Yes you can. They drugged you, Matt. They're gonna lock you up here forever. You have to leave while you still can."

"But, Hotch..."

"Everyone knows what you did. Everyone thinks you're a dirty little fag. They will never respect you again." Running his fingers through Reid's hair.

The profiler wanted to pull away from the touch, away from this person. But more than anything else he wanted to get away from the hospital.

"I don't know where to go," he said sadly.

A smile spread on Jase's face. Skilled fingers started to help Reid to take off his pajama. "I will take care of you. Come with me. It's time."


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:** Uh oh. Sorry for the delay! My muse went elsewhere ;D Hope you're still with me. Thank you so much for all the lovely reviews! They keep me writing (along with AA's threats ;D Thanks for beta reading, doll!)

Disclaimer: Criminal Minds is not mine.

**Chapter 11**

It was in the middle of the night and Aaron Hotchner was tired beyond belief. However, sleep seemed to be something he wasn't going to get anytime soon. Before the team leader would be able to even think about going to bed, he had to explain some very complicated things to Detective Samuel Jacobs.

"What do you mean by 'you dealt with the problem'?" the still very upset and equally tired policeman asked. "Your agent should sit in an interrogation room as we speak!"

Hotch lifted his hands in a calming gesture. "Normally I would agree," he said in the most reasonable tone he managed at that time of day – or rather night. "But as I told you already, Dr. Reid is ill and needs medical attention. He..."

"We have three dead men!" Jacobs interrupted harshly. His face had turned into an unhealthy dark shade of red. "I don't care about your agent's well-being!"

The BAU chief pressed his lips together. From the back of the room, JJ and Prentiss could almost see the inner battle their boss was fighting; how he was trying to maintain his composure.

"Look," Hotch began quietly. "I know you're under a huge amount of pressure both from your colleagues and the public. And believe me: I want to solve this case as much as you do." He looked the detective straight in the eye to underline the sincerity of the statement. "I can assure you that Agent Reid won't go anywhere. He's in the clinic under the watch of capable psychologists and staff."

In contrast to most other people, Samuel Jacobs was able to hold the team leader's intense stare. For a very long minute, he just looked at Hotch as if to assess the other man's credibility. Finally, he seemed to come to a conclusion. His eyes narrowed, but kept focused on the senior profiler's face.

"I want to hear your opinion," he said slowly, never breaking the eye contact to Hotch. "Tell me the truth. Do you think Spencer Reid is the killer?"

The former prosecutor didn't hesitate, not even for a split second. "No."

* * *

_They were watching him. He could feel their gazes boring into his back. Apart from the disturbingly colorful lights that were coming from the various clubs and bars, it was a deep dark night. He didn't know what time it was, nor did he know where he was. He had no idea what he was doing in this dubious street that was crowded with even more dubious looking people._

_He felt dizzy, but kept walking. He didn't dare to stop, just wanted to get out of this shady quarter as soon as possible. Once in a while he lifted his head slightly and glanced up to make sure he wouldn't run into someone – or something.__ It seemed all so very familiar..._

"What are we doing here? I don't wanna be here," he said with a hushed voice.

Warm fingers touched lightly his own icy cold hand. "Not much longer, Matt. We're almost there."

* * *

Morgan was once again walking down the dimly lit corridor of the BAU headquarters. It was late and most agents had gone home to their families.

When he and Hotch had returned from their visit at the hospital, they'd split up. The team leader had gone to the police office in DC to talk to Jacobs. Hotch had told his younger colleague to go back to the headquarters and see how Garcia was doing; if she had made any progress with her research.

As Morgan walked towards her tiny office, he thought about his meeting with Reid. The kid had never looked that frightened before. Or, well, perhaps once. Images of the young doctor's ordeal with Tobias Hankel flashed through Morgan's mind. The profiler still found it rather annoying that he hadn't gotten the chance to put the bastard's head on a stick, as he had promised. Reid had actually beaten him to it. The genius had proven that he possessed lots of guts back then on the forsaken cemetery. And Morgan was sure some of that strength was still left in Reid. It had to be.

_Kid will make it._

He pushed the door to Garcia's office open. "Hey baby doll," he greeted his favorite tech girl.

The blond woman didn't turn around, but kept her gaze fixated on the screen of her computer. "Hey," she replied absent-mindedly.

Morgan stepped close behind her chair and stared into the screen as well. Unfortunately, the colorful windows and blinking numbers didn't make much sense to him.

"What are you doing?" he asked after a while.

Garcia let her fingers run over the keyboard. "Checking something for the boss man."

Suddenly a new window appeared on the screen and caught her attention. "Oh," she murmured and quickly dialed a number on the phone.

The profiler behind her was at a loss. "What? What is it?" Morgan asked impatiently. However, the tech girl was already talking to the person on the phone.

"Sir," she began. "I have the information you wanted. It's...odd."

* * *

Jacobs, Prentiss and JJ watched anxiously how Hotch's facial expression became more serious with each second passing during the phone call.

"I understand," he said evenly and added: "Thank you, Garcia", before ending the call.

"What is it?" Prentiss asked instantly, as her boss put the cell phone back into his pocket.

Hotch opened his mouth to reply, however, the cop who stormed into the office right then kept him from speaking.

"Another murder!" the young policeman almost shouted into the room and left as suddenly as he had arrived.

Detective Jacobs and the profilers needed a second to comprehend the news. At once they seemed to understand the message and ran hastily out of the room, following the other cop.

* * *

"Wait, wait!" He tried to pull his hand away from the other man's firm grip around his wrist, but the tiredness and the general weakness of his physical shape made it impossible for him to escape. So he tried desperately to keep up the fast pace through the dark streets of DC.

He felt himself being dragged along places he'd never seen before, yet they seemed oddly familiar. Almost, as if he'd been there in a former life - before everything had been so screwed up.

Finally, the strong hand led him into a small dark alley. No street lamps. No people. Only the two of them, standing close, listening to each other's breaths.

"What have you done? You killed him," he whispered. His heart was beating too fast in his chest, his breathing was too shallow; he could feel sweat running down his back.

Jase pressed him softly against the wall and moved his mouth close to his ear. "I did what I had to do. There are too many of them." And his voice sounded angelic and devilish at the same time. "He wanted to use you, Matt. Like all the others. Use you and throw you away afterwards. Like trash. We can't let that happen anymore."

He could feel the other man's hot breath on his skin, on his neck. Then on his own mouth...

Suddenly the sound of sirens from a distance. Approaching.

"They're coming," Jase stated calmly, sad resignation in his voice.

His heartbeat quickened even more. _Oh no..._

The other man's warm hand took hold of his, handing him something.

"No, I don't want it," he said quickly, panic rising inside him.

"Use it," Jase demanded firmly. "Defend yourself, Matt. Don't let anyone ever hurt you again. They are not your friends. They will hurt you eventually."

He shook his head violently, but tightened his grip around the knife - the same knife that had stuck into the fat guy's stomach only a few minutes ago. The murder weapon.

Jase placed both hands on his bony shoulders. "Fight them with your life, Matt. I have to go now."

And the panic was complete. "What? No, please, don't leave me alone here!"

No reply. Instead warm lips making contact with his own so very lightly – too lightly to be called a kiss. Only one last touch to say goodbye.

And Jase was gone.

He listened to the foot steps fading and to the sirens approaching. And he sank down on his heels, leaning back against the cold wall, waiting for the next attack to come. The knife in his hand...

* * *

Hotch sat in the police car next to Samuel Jacobs who was driving like a maniac through the city.

"We almost got the bastard," the detective growled.

"Where did your man loose track of him?" the senior profiler asked evenly.

"A couple of streets from the crime scene. It was too dark. Henderson couldn't see him anymore," Jacobs said excitedly.

"Apparently, the killer was there by foot. There's a good chance he's still in the near vicinity," Hotch replied.

"And we have a vague idea how he looks like," Prentiss added from the backseat. JJ had stayed at the police station to co-ordinate the mission, but Morgan was on his way from the BAU headquarters already.

"We have to find the guy," Jacobs muttered and stepped on the gas a bit more as Hotch's cell started to ring again.

"Hotchner," he answered the call curtly as usual.

"Aaron, it's me, Gerald."

A sense of foreboding made the team leader's heartbeat skip a beat. He really could do without more bad news.

"What is it?"

"We have a problem here," the psychologist said earnestly. "A nurse called me. She was doing her thirty-minute round and wanted to check up on Spencer but didn't find him in his room."

Hotch threw a brief glance at Jacobs and turned his head towards the window in a futile attempt to keep the conversation secret.

"What? When did she notice?"

"About three hours ago. We searched the hospital and the park for him. I thought that maybe he's just wandering around a bit," Emerson said in an apologetic tone. "We looked everywhere but Spencer isn't here anymore."

"I don't understand," the senior profiler countered sharply. "How could you just let him go?"

A sigh on the other side. "The St. Lousianne's is not a prison, Aaron. I'm sorry."

Hotch ended the call without another word.

He could practically feel Jacobs' looks at him. He groaned silently. He would have to tell him anyway, so he might as well inform the officer before they arrived at the crime scene.

"My agent has left the clinic."

A bitter laugh escaped the detective's lips. "What a coincidence!"

* * *

The sounds of the sirens seemed to come from all directions now. Hasty footsteps getting closer, excited voices getting louder.

Then the flashlights came. Light spots everywhere around him, even from above.

A helicopter?

_Oh God._

Realization: _They are here._

His fingers tightened around the knife.

_**Defend yourself.**_

_They are my friends. They will help me. _

_**They will hurt you.**_

_I haven't done anything._

_**Everyone knows what you did. Everyone thinks you're a dirty little fag.**_

_No. _

"Reid!"

_Hotch?_

"Reid, put the knife down!"

_Why is he shouting at me?_

"Put it down now!" Another voice.

He tried to look up, but was blinded by the spotlights. He lifted his arm to block the light from his eyes.

They must have interpreted that as a threatening gesture.

Someone was on him now, pushing him down to the ground.

_Oh God, not again. Please._

The unknown voice yelled at him. "Spencer Reid, you are under arrest."


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Again, I'm sorry for the delay. Chapter is a bit longer but not very exciting. Beta read by AA (thanks babes!).

**Chapter 12**

JJ stood alone behind the glass barrier that separated her from her youngest colleague she'd always considered a little brother. The media liaison had been left behind at the police station while Jacobs and the rest of the team had been looking for the Unsub.

With wide eyes JJ had watched how the head detective and a few other officers had led a cuffed Reid through the entrance of the building and straight into the interrogation room.

In shock, the blond agent had called Hotch to find out what was going on. The team leader, however, had merely told her to stay calm and wait for him. He'd said there was something he needed to take care of first.

_You better hurry, Hotch_, JJ thought when she noticed the satisfied smirk on Jacobs' face as he pursued the inquiry.

--

_'Pathetic'_ was the only word that came to Samuel Jacobs' mind at the sight that presented itself in front of him.

The policeman stood with his hands placed on the table, looking down at the young man they'd just caught only a few hundred meters away from the crime scene with a bloodied knife in his hands. For the detective, there was no doubt anymore that this was the killer he'd been looking for. Jacobs had been doing his job for too many years to let himself be blinded by the pitiful appearance of the skinny kid who was sitting there with his hands restrained to the chair. All he needed was a confession.

"Alright, let's start with something simple," the detective began. "Agent Hotchner told me that you were in the St. Lousianne's Sanatorium. That's an one hour drive. How did you get into the city tonight?"

Reid glanced briefly up at the much older man on the other side of table before dropping his gaze down to his lap again. His brain tried feverishly to assess the situation. However, the sedative they'd given him back at the hospital was still clouding his mind. All Reid knew was that he didn't want to talk to the policeman. He didn't want to be here. After all, he hadn't done anything wrong. Why would they keep him here? And where was Hotch? The profiler was pretty sure that his team members had been there when he'd been arrested. He couldn't understand why no-one was here to help him now.

"Difficult question?" Jacobs asked sarcastically. "OK, here's another one: Why did you kill those people? Did you know them? Or did you just stab the first one who had the bad luck of crossing your way?"

The young doctor wanted to wrap his arms around his torso, but the cuffs didn't permit that. He wanted to draw his knees tightly to his chest, to curl up and make himself as small as possible, but he couldn't. Instead he had to sit in the brightly lit interrogation room, faced with a clearly hostile police officer who kept asking questions Reid didn't know the answers to.

When the silence in the small white room became too much to bear, the young profiler finally decided to speak.

"I...I want to talk to Aaron Hotchner," he said slowly and very quietly.

Jacobs snorted. That was not what he wanted to hear at all. Actually, he was glad that the BAU-chief wasn't around at the moment. It seemed more likely to get the kid to spill the beans without a senior profiler covering his back.

"Your boss isn't here. It's only me and I asked you a question," the detective announced more forcefully. "Why did you kill those men?"

Reid knew he shouldn't avoid making eye contact with his interrogator. He was aware that keeping one's gaze down could easily be interpreted as a sign of guilt, but he just couldn't bring himself to lift his head and look the detective in the eye.

Jacobs leaned forward. "Well?" he urged when there was still no reply.

For a second the young profiler forgot that he was cuffed to the chair and made an attempt to tuck his hair behind his ears. He could move his hands only a tiny bit, but it was enough to annoy the policeman further.

"Keep your hands down," he called loudly and leaned even more over the table. "You better co-operate, kid. If you tell me everything it might reduce your jail sentence." Jacobs added in a very low dangerous tone: "Do you have any idea what happens to people like you in prison?"

Reid swallowed and finally lifted his head a bit to look at the man whose face was way too close to his own.

"P...people like me?" he asked, cursing himself for stuttering. Until now, he hadn't even thought about the possibility to be locked up in prison. The idea alone was enough to make him feel sick – again.

"Yeah," the detective shot back. "People like you. FBI agents. Not very popular with their inmates."

Reid looked at him with wide eyes. He knew he needed to talk to Hotch immediately.

Jacobs smiled. "Pretty boys on the other hand..."

It was then that the door to the interrogation room was forcefully opened.

"That is enough," Hotch said firmly, taking in the scene before him. He watched the policeman stepping back from the table, an annoyed expression on his face. He didn't appear to be overly happy about the senior profiler's arrival.

"I'm not done yet," Jacobs said sharply, throwing Hotch a stern look.

The team leader stepped closer towards the other man. "Yes you are," he replied calmly. "I want to speak with Dr. Reid in private, if you don't mind."

The detective let out a brief bark of laughter. "Oh, I do mind, Hotchner. You're not working this case anymore." Which was true, of course. As soon as Reid's involvement had leaked out, Hotch had gotten a phone call from Erin Strauss who'd told him to step away from the case immediately if he wanted to keep his badge.

The senior profiler was aware that his team had to retreat from the investigation – at least officially. Nothing, however, could have kept him from helping Reid.

"I am Dr. Reid's superior and – if necessary – his lawyer," Hotch said decisively. "He won't answer any more questions until I have talked to him. Now, if you would excuse us?" He indicated to the door.

For a couple of seconds Samuel Jacobs seemed to consider his options. He wanted nothing more than to continue with the interrogation to get a confession already. Unfortunately, Hotchner didn't leave him much of a choice. With an inward growl and his jaw set, the detective left the room.

Hotch waited until the door fell shut, then moved to the free chair, sitting down opposite to his subordinate who had remained silent during the older men's argument.

"How are you holding up?" the BAU chief asked quietly, trying to take in the younger man's condition. He looked ill somehow. Very pale and definitely tired.

Reid merely shrugged. It was hard enough to keep his eyes open. He preferred to keep his mouth shut.

"Reid, I know you're tired, but we need to talk about a few things."

The young doctor's eyes darted nervously from his boss, to the table, back to his boss, then to the floor. "Okay," he finally managed to get out.

Hotch nodded, relieved to see that Reid wouldn't shut him out completely.

"Why did you leave the clinic?" Trying not to sound angry. The team leader didn't feel anger towards Reid and he wanted to make that clear from the beginning.

"I just...I couldn't stay there, Hotch."

"Why not?"

The younger man hung his head, causing the long strands of hair to fall into his face like a curtain to shield him from the world. "I'm not crazy," he murmured.

Hotch sighed. "No-one said that. But you have to face your issues, Reid."

Silence.

Realizing that this wouldn't lead anywhere, the older man went on: "How did you get into the center of town? It's quite far from the hospital."

Hotch could hear his subordinate swallow hard. "Jase had a car."

"Jase?"

"Yeah, he...he wanted me to come with him," Reid explained meekly. He wasn't sure if it was a good idea to mention Jase again, however, the young profiler was much too tired to think of a lie. He'd never been a gifted liar and right now didn't seem to be the best time to practice.

Hotch rubbed his forehead. The team leader was uncharacteristically uncertain of how to proceed with the conversation.

He settled for the truth as well. "I asked Garcia to do some research on Jase."

At this, Reid's head snapped up. "And?"

"His real name is Christian Sanders, 26 years old, from Pennsylvania," Hotch began his report. "After Vegas he's been institutionalized. Apparently, he has suffered a mental breakdown. Gerald is currently talking with his psychiatrist. We will know more soon."

The senior profiler paused a second to give Reid a chance to let the news sink in.

"Where...?" the younger man wanted to ask, but Hotch interrupted him.

"They brought him to a hospital near his hometown in Pennsylvania. But he isn't there anymore."

Heavy silence engulfed the sticky room. Both men were looking at each other, both fighting their own inner struggle.

It was Reid who finally whispered: "He's here."

"Maybe," Hotch replied equally quietly. "We have to find him, Reid."

"He killed that man," the younger profiler said, more to himself than to his superior.

"Did you see that?"

Reid nodded. "I tried...I...I couldn't...," he stopped mid-sentenced, almost as if he forgot what it was he wanted to say.

Hotch leaned forward a bit. "You what?"

The younger man shook his head lightly. He pulled at the restraints – hard enough to make them cut painfully into the already tender skin of his wrists. Damn, the urge to wrap his arms around himself was overwhelming.

"I couldn't think straight, Hotch," he admitted. "They...they drugged me." The last part was spoken in a whispered rush. It wasn't the same, Reid knew that, but still he found it hard to utter these words – considering his past and all...

"It was just a mild sedative," Hotch pointed out.

"I know that," Reid said, sounding a bit more agitated. "But it makes me all dizzy and slow and I can't...I don't know why I even went with him. He..he..."

"It's okay." Hotch lifted his hands in a soothing gesture.

"No, it's not okay!" the younger man retorted. "I hate him, Hotch!"

For three full seconds Reid looked his boss straight in the eye. He wanted to show him that he meant every word he had just uttered. But he couldn't stand the pitiful expression he assumed was plastered on Hotch's face. So he dropped his gaze again, waiting for the pitiful words from the older man that would match the pitiful facial expression.

"We need to find him, Reid," the senior profiler repeated after a while. He wanted to comfort his subordinate, wanted to say some assuring things, but now was not the time for that. "You were arrested near the crime scene with a knife in your hand that will probably turn out to be the murder weapon. It's still in the lab. If Jase..._Christian_ is responsible for this, we have to find him and stop him from killing more people."

Reid listened to his boss' words, trying desperately to focus, but his body was screaming for rest. He had a feeling that if he wouldn't lie down any time soon, sleep would take him forcefully.

"I don't know where he is," the young profiler said wearily. "He just ran away, left me alone in the alley."

For the second time the door was opened harshly. Reid turned his head as much as he could to see who was joining them. He half-expected detective Jacobs to come back and continue his unpleasant interrogation, but the face that came into his field of view was not the gray, tired and embittered one belonging to the policeman.

"What is it, Gerald?" Hotch asked instantly. He wasn't that surprised about the psychologist's appearance. Earlier they had already spoken on the phone and agreed to meet at the station.

Instead of replying, Emerson focused on his patient. "Spencer, are you alright? You had us worried." There was no accusation in his tone, only pure concern. He gestured to the handcuffs. "Are these really necessary, Aaron?"

"I'm afraid so," Hotch replied evenly. "Until we find Sanders, Reid is still the prime suspect for Jacobs."

Giving the young man on the chair a sympathetic look, Emerson sighed heavily.

"OK then. I talked to Christian Sanders' psychiatrist, Dr. Kuttler," he began. "According to him, Christian suffered a deep trauma from the events in Las Vegas. Apparently, he'd been living in the underground for several months. After a while he suppressed the natural urge to fight his captors and gave in. However, after the sudden release all those repressed emotions came back full force and triggered a psychotic break."

Emerson stopped for a moment to draw breath. Both profilers were watching him anxiously.

"I told Dr. Kuttler that Christian might have went to see Spencer. It turned out that Christian had been talking about you for quite a while." The psychologist glanced down at Reid. "Kuttler thinks that, since you were Christian's latest, uhm, partner, you are the strongest impression imprinted on his mind before the breakdown. In his delusional state he sort of considers you – if not a lover – than at least a companion in his suffering."

Now both profilers nodded their understanding. That made sense. They had seen things like that before and knew it'd be very well possible that Christian thought of Reid as kindred spirit.

"Wait," Hotch suddenly said. "If he really feels that way, why did he abandon Reid tonight?"

Emerson rubbed his eyes in a tired motion. He hadn't gotten much sleep in the last 48 hours. "Well, as I said, he is not acting on a rational base. He was probably scared or thought he had to continue that mission he seems to be on."

"Killing sexual offenders," the senior profiler added absent-mindedly.

"Yes. My guess is that he won't be able to stay away from Spencer for very long. So...," Emerson trailed off, hoping that he wouldn't have to verbalize his idea.

Hotch got the hint, but remained silent. His brain was working at high speed, weighing up the pros and cons of the unspoken suggestion.

He hadn't reached a conclusion yet when Reid blurted out of the blue: "Just say it, Hotch. You wanna use me as bait."

* * *

A/N2: Oh, and thank you all for your wonderful feedback! Means a lot to me ;)

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	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Addicted Archangel once said: "Forget the smut. Write more Filthy." **

**LOL Never expected to hear that line from her ;D Thanks for beta reading, babes! And thank you all dear readers and reviewers for your support! ;)**

Disclaimer: I don't own Criminal Minds.

**Chapter 13**

He lay on his left side with his knees drawn up to his chest, his back pressed against the cold wall. Facing the door. There was no way he could turn away from the door. He needed to stay alert, to keep his eyes glued to the entrance, watching if someone would open it.

He needed sleep. His body was screaming for rest; his eyes were hurting because he'd been denying himself the pleasure of closing them for more than five seconds.

He knew it was only a matter of time. Sooner or later the door would open again and someone would come to hurt him. Another lesson, another client, another experience he didn't want to make, another deep impact into his already damaged soul.

He drew his knees a bit higher up towards his fast beating heart, wrapping his arms tightly around his legs. It was a futile attempt to make himself a smaller target – he was very well aware of that.

If Tristan or one of his goons would come to get him, there would be no way to escape. No-one would prevent it from happening again. Not that it mattered anymore. But still...

Still he wished that his team would come to save him – just to let him know that he wasn't alone. Another futile thought, he mused bitterly.

A squeaking sound. The door.

He stiffened as he watched it swinging open. Slowly.

He squeezed his eyes shut, pretending to sleep. There was no use in keeping them open anymore. It was too late. Perhaps – if they thought he was asleep – they would just leave again.

The tiny glimmer of hope was instantly destroyed, however, when a firm hand grabbed his shoulder, shaking him.

A loud voice calling him.

"Reid!"

He didn't want to face the inevitable. He wanted to ignore it so it would go away.

"Reid, wake up!" Again the voice.

"No, please," he murmured, trying to pull away from the hand.

"Come on, man, calm down." The same voice, but it didn't sound hostile. It wasn't the cheerful tone of Tristan Stuart either. It was...

His eyes snapped open. The first thing he saw was a face of a man only inches away from his own. He wanted to scream but his throat seemed to be blocked somehow. He could hardly breath.

"Get your hands off me," he whispered. He sat up quickly, pulling away from the unwanted touch, pressing himself against the wall.

"Reid, it's me, Morgan. Calm down," the older man said soothingly and lifted his hands in an appeasing gesture. "It's ok. You were dreaming."

The young doctor's eyes darted through the room, his brain trying to make sense of the situation. It was a different room. Definitely. He wasn't in the underground anymore. And the man in front of him wasn't one of his tormentors. He was a friend.

"Morgan?" he finally asked with an undeniable amount of uncertainty in his tone. "I...where am I? What happened?"

The older agent managed to put on a casual smile that didn't mirror his own emotional state at all.

"You fell asleep while Hotch was talking to you," Morgan explained. His smile broadened. "Can't blame you, kiddo."

Reid rubbed his eyes. "Hotch? I can't...I can't remember."

"Must be the after effect of the sedative they've given you in the hospital." Morgan sat down on the bed, heaving a sigh. "We picked you up on the streets in DC, remember?"

The younger man shook his head, trying to clear his mind. Gradually, bits and pieces of the last night's events came back into his conscious. "Yeah," he replied slowly. And suddenly it hit him. "Oh God, Morgan! They think I'm the killer, don't they?" In panic, he took a look around once more. "I'm in prison. This is a prison cell. I ..."

"Whoa, okay. Reid, it's okay," the other profiler tried to calm him. "The detective insisted on holding you here for the night. We're still at the police station."

Reid looked at his colleague with a doubtful expression. "How long...?"

"You've been out for almost ten hours," Morgan replied quickly. "It's nearly noon."

Ignoring the puzzled expression on his teammate's face, the older man turned to the side, reaching into the big paper bag he'd brought with him.

"I got you some clothes and something to eat," he murmured as he rummaged through the items in the bag.

After a moment he handed Reid a pair of clean trousers and a thin long-sleeved shirt.

The younger man took the clothes hesitantly. He wasn't very fond of the idea that someone had just gone through his stuff at home. However, he realized that at the moment this was by far his smallest problem.

"I, uhm, I need a shower," he said instead.

Morgan nodded. He could relate. After having spent a night in a dirty cell, he would want to shower too. "I'll see what I can do," he promised. "But I think you should eat something first. I brought a few doughnuts."

He fished one of the sweet chocolate-iced pieces out of the bag and held it up for Reid to take it. "Your favorites."

The younger man eyed the tempting looking whorl. He wanted it. God, he was so hungry. But he knew what was going to happen if he ate it. The sight alone was enough to make his stomach cramp prophylactically.

"I'm not hungry," Reid lied, not wanting to have a discussion that would keep him from having a shower longer than necessary.

A disappointed expression spread on Morgan's face. "Reid, you look like a damn skeleton." He lifted the doughnut a bit more. "At least one...please?"

"No, I really want to shower before I do anything else," the younger man said, trying to ignore the wonderful smell coming from the delicious piece of dough under his nose.

His colleague sighed deeply and stuff the doughnut back into the bag. "I leave them here for you," Morgan commented as he moved to the exit of the cell. "And I'll see what I can do about the shower."

He gave his young team member a final tight smile before calling the guard to let him out of the interim prison cell.

* * *

"I really don't like this Agent Hotchner." Detective Samuel Jacobs wasn't sure what to think about the profiler's plan. Of course, he wanted to catch the real Unsub – should this young agent be the wrong man. On the other hand, he didn't want to take the risk of letting the kid outside.

Hotch was glad that he could talk in a reasonable manner with the policeman today. Last night everyone had been very worn-out. After Reid had fallen asleep in the interrogation room, they'd decided to call it a day and get some sleep. After all, they could be pretty sure that the Unsub wouldn't strike twice a night.

"It looks as if this is the best way to catch Sanders," Hotch repeated. He'd said this sentence several times already in order to convince the detective.

"Given that this Sanders is actually the killer. You don't even know for sure that he's in town," Jacobs pointed out, earning himself a tired groan from the other profilers.

Gerald Emerson had come to attend the briefing too. Hotch knew the psychologist had gotten along with the young genius quite well. Right now the team leader was happy about every bit of support he could get.

"I've had very intense talks with Dr. Reid," Emerson interjected. "There was nothing in his words or attitude that would even as much as hint at him being responsible for the murders. He's not seeking revenge."

The policeman wasn't convinced at all. "If you're wrong and I let him go..."

"You don't let him go," Hotch interrupted. "We'll keep a close eye on him. He can't get away."

The door opened, preventing Jacobs from uttering another doubt.

"He wants to take a shower," Morgan said bluntly as he walked over to his boss without even looking at the head detective.

"Of course he does," Emerson murmured quietly, barely loud enough to be heard by Prentiss who stood closest to him. She gave the psychologist a worried expression, wondering about the deeper meaning in his statement.

"This is not a hotel!" Jacobs exclaimed impatiently.

Which was JJ's cue. Upset locals were her specialty. She went swiftly to the detective and touched his upper arm ever so lightly.

"We should discuss the mission for tonight. Where to position your men and things like that, you know..." She smiled at him.

"I've not even agreed with the 'mission' as you call it, miss," Jacobs said, his tone much quieter already.

JJ led him gently away from the others. "I know. Nothing decided yet. But we should be prepared, just in case..."

Her voice faded as the door fell shut behind her and Jacobs.

Hotch gave an inward sigh of relief. He turned to face Morgan.

"How is he?" the senior profiler asked quietly.

The younger man shrugged. "Was having a nightmare, I guess. He was a bit upset at first, but seemed to be holding up well considering...," he trailed off. "He really wants to shower now. Someone will have to go with him."

Everyone's eyes wandered to the psychologist. "Spencer won't be comfortable with someone escorting him," he stated knowingly. "At least it should be someone he trusts."

Uneasy silence.

It was Hotch who finally decided: "I will go. You keep Jacobs at bay."

No-one questioned the team leader's order.

* * *

The corridor that led from the overnight cells to the washroom was long, narrow and lit by a white and extremely disturbing fluorescent light.

Silently, Hotch and Reid walked towards their destination. At first, the younger man had argued that he was able to take a shower on his own. However, the senior profiler had made it very clear that Reid wouldn't be permitted to move alone freely – at least not for the time being.

As soon as they reached the blue tiled washroom, the young doctor took in the surroundings. Four open shower cubicles to the left, two toilets and a somewhat rotten looking wash basin on the right hand side.

No curtains, no doors. Only one big room and nowhere to hide. Luckily, the two profilers were the only people in there right now.

Reid glanced nervously at his superior.

"I can't leave you alone, Reid," Hotch said before the younger man even had the chance to ask. The older man moved to the last cubicle in the row and put the soap and a sponge down on the floor. The nice old cleaning lady had given him those things after they'd met her in the corridor. At the sight of Reid, her face had gone all sad, showing clearly the pity she'd felt for the ill-looking young man.

Reid followed his boss hesitantly to the far corner of the wash room. He clutched the clothes Morgan had brought him tightly before his stomach.

Hotch looked at his subordinate. He held out a hand, gesturing Reid to hand him the clean pieces of clothing.

For a moment, the young doctor just wanted to turn around and go back to his cell. But the urge to wash the filth off his body was stronger. Much stronger. He needed to shower. Now. It had been ages since his last shower.

Reid swallowed hard and handed Hotch the neatly folded clothes, before he began to slowly strip down. With his hair falling protectively over his eyes and not even once looking at his boss he got undressed and stepped quickly into the small cubicle.

Hotch had been looking away the whole time, of course. He waited until he heard the sound of running water before picking up the worn clothes, putting them on a small pile. On the outside he was his usual calm self, but inside his mind was racing. Jacobs wasn't a problem. He was as good as convinced to let Reid out for a couple of hours. But what if this Sanders guy was actually lurking somewhere? What if he didn't have Reid's best interest at heart, as his psychiatrist assumed? And another, even more upsetting thought kept flashing through Hotch's brain: What if Sanders wasn't there? What if Reid...?

"I...I need a towel, Hotch." The insecure voice of his youngest team member interrupted the team leader's musings.

Hotch moved quickly to the edge of the cabin, careful not to look, and handed Reid a big blue bath towel that matched the color of the tiles.

After two minutes of silence: "My clothes...please?" And it was that small request, uttered with an even smaller voice, that caused Hotch's stomach to knot painfully. There was something in the tone...something pleading, unsure, almost on the verge of panic...

_As if he doubts that I give him his clothes back_, Hotch thought sadly.

He lifted his hand to give Reid the clean pile and waited for the young profiler to come out.

"For how long will they keep me here?" Reid asked as he climbed out of the cubicle.

Both men turned to go back to the cell. "Depends," Hotch replied calmly. "We need to find Christian first. I hope our plan will work out."

_The plan._ Earlier in the cell, Hotch had told Reid about said plan. The younger man gulped as his prison came into sight again. "When do you wanna pull it off?" he wanted to know, his eyes glued to the metal bars.

The senior profiler gave his agent a brief side glance. "Tonight."


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: Big thanks to everyone who took the time to read and review! And special thanks to AA for beta reading ;D

Disclaimer: I don't own Criminal Minds.

**Chapter 14**

Hours had passed since Hotch had left him in the cell. No-one else had come to see him or talk to him.

_They're probably busy with the preparations for tonight,_ Reid mused. He sat with his legs crossed on the hard mattress of the uncomfortable bed. Every now and again he glanced at the paper bag with the doughnuts Morgan had brought him earlier.

Reid's stomach had given up growling. He didn't feel really hungry, just entirely empty. And he was scared.

_The plan._

The profiler knew that he was going to play a major role tonight. His teammates wanted to use him as bait to lure Jase into a trap.

_Christian_, Reid reminded himself. _His name is Christian. And I am not Matt. I am..._

The familiar sound of the cell door being unlocked put an abrupt end to the young agent's train of thoughts. He tensed instantly, beginning to twist his hands in his lap.

Reid glanced up to see who was visiting. At the sight of Emerson entering the cell he allowed himself to relax slightly.

The psychologist gave the guard on duty an assuring nod before focusing his attention on his patient.

"Spencer, how are you holding up?" Emerson asked as he approached the young man sitting on the bed.

Reid merely shrugged. What was he supposed to say? He had been locked up in a prison cell like a dangerous criminal and for hours no-one had even bothered to visit him.

"I'm sorry it took me so long to come here," the older man said, as if reading the agent's mind. He gestured towards to mattress. "May I?"

"Sure," the profiler said quietly.

Emerson sat down, careful to leave enough space between himself and his patient.

"I talked to Christian Sanders' psychiatrist," he explained his late appearance. "I asked him to come here. It's important to know every detail about Christian's delusions. We need to know what he sees in you."

Reid looked down at his hands. He had asked himself the same question. Several possibilities had crossed his mind and none of them were rather appealing.

"So...what did his doctor say?"

It took Emerson a few seconds to weigh up which information he should give his patient and what he had better keep away from him.

The psychologist drew a deep breath. "The most important fact is that none of his alleged feelings for you are real." He looked at Reid with an earnest expression on his face. "You need to understand that he is not in love with you nor does he care about you."

Reid was confused. What was Emerson implying here?

"I didn't...I mean, I'm not..."

"I know," the older man cut him off. "It's not about you. You just happened to be his last partner before..."

Now it was Reid who interrupted his doctor. "Don't talk about that. I...I just have to know how I am supposed to deal with him if I meet him tonight."

There was a hint of annoyance in the young agent's tone that concerned Emerson.

"Don't try to negotiate with him," he said firmly. "He's suffered a severe psychotic break. You cannot communicate with him on a logical level. The only thing you have to do is to be there and wait for the others to arrest him."

Reid put on a bitter smile. "Lure him into a trap like an animal. Tristan Stuart used to go with very similar tactics, you know..."

It was then that an array of warning bells started to ring in Emerson's head.

"Spencer," the psychologist began earnestly. He paused, causing the younger man to look at him. "You know that he didn't have the right to kill those men, don't you?"

Reid let his gaze drop again.

Since there was no reply, Emerson stressed the statement once more: "What he's been through did not give him the right to murder innocent people."

The younger man snorted. "Innocent...," he repeated dismissively.

"Spencer..."

"I know, Gerald," Reid finally blurted. He didn't have the strength to shout, but it was close enough. "I know all that. I know that he didn't have the right to kill them. I know that he has to be caught. And I know that he doesn't care about me."

The profiler took a few breaths to calm himself down. After a moment of silence he finally whispered: "I just want it to be over. I wanna go home. I want..." He stopped, not knowing what exactly it was he wanted.

Emerson gave him a sympathetic look. He felt for his patient. There was only so much a person could take.

"It will be over soon, Spencer," he said reassuringly, hoping that he was right. He glanced sideways at the paper bag with the doughnuts. "Did you eat something?"

Reid shook his head tiredly.

The doctor nodded. Not really a surprise. He reached into his own shoulder bag and brought out a small can. Emerson handed it to Reid.

"Drink that," he told his patient. "It's a liquid supplement. You will need the energy."

* * *

It was almost half past nine in the evening. Usually at this time of day, the main office of the police department in Washington DC wasn't that crowded anymore. Now, however, almost every single desk in every single room were occupied by people in uniforms – and suits.

For more than an hour Aaron Hotchner and head detective Samuel Jacobs had been discussing the best strategy to catch the serial killer.

"I have every man of my unit out on the streets," the policeman said once again – as if to assure himself that he'd done everything he could to finally solve the case.

"Good," Hotch replied. "My team will be there too. We will stay close to Reid..."

"To make sure he's not gonna take a running jump," the detective added quickly. On more than one occasion he'd uttered his doubts about the whole plan. He'd been so relieved the day before, assuming that he'd already caught the killer. And then these people had expected him to start from zero again – well, almost zero. At least he had the kid. And he was going to keep a close eye on him tonight.

Hotch sighed. "We will stay close to make sure he's alright. There's no way to predict how Sanders is going to react to him."

"If Sanders is even out there," Jacobs pointed out again.

The senior profiler had heard this phrase way too often for it to be tolerable anymore. "Look, you agreed to go with the plan. We need to focus our attention on that now."

The detective gave the agent one final doubtful look and finally stepped into action.

"I'm going to instruct my men now. We should leave soon," he stated grumpily and turned to move to the very inconspicuous looking uniformed crowd waiting in front of the entrance.

Hotch shook his head lightly. He was so fed up with the whole situation. He couldn't recall the last time he'd been so exhausted. Well, maybe a few months ago on the other end of the continent...

"Hotch!" Morgan called from the main entrance, interrupting his boss' thoughts.

Wearing a quizzical expression on his face, the unit chief walked swiftly to his agent.

Morgan handed his cell to his superior. "It's Garcia. Wants to talk to you _personally_." He put emphasis on the last word, apparently irritated by his baby girl's wish to rather speak with Hotch than with him.

The senior profiler took the cell phone and took a few steps away – not that there were many quiet places to go in the busy office.

"Garcia? What is it?" he asked.

And listened.

He raised an eyebrow. "What? When?"

The slightly agitated tone in his superior's voice was not lost on Morgan. Prentiss must have noticed the unusual hunched posture of their stoic boss too, because she joined her athletic colleague. Morgan rewarded her questioning stare with a shrug. He had no idea what Garcia wanted to tell Hotch.

The team leader kept silent, listening to the tech girl's words, taking in the new and very unexpected information.

"OK," he said eventually, clearly struggling to keep calm. "No, it wasn't your fault, Garcia. Thank you." He hung up and looked at his agents.

"What's going on?" Prentiss asked, a frown on her face. "Something wrong?"

Hotch glanced around. "Well yes, I think there might be trouble coming up."

"Trouble?" Morgan inquired impatiently. "More trouble than..."

In that moment the door behind him was opened forcefully, hitting the profiler's back.

Morgan spun around – and froze. From what seemed like another planet he could hear Prentiss call the arriver's name.

"Gideon?"

Then something seemed to snap in Morgan's head. Something that made him raise his fist and punch the man before him hard in the face.

"Morgan!" Hotch called and jumped at him from behind, holding back his arms. The unit chief's piercing voice was enough to bring the younger agent back into reality. He stumbled backwards, never taking his eyes off the man who was now crouching on the floor with his hand pressed against his bleeding lip.

Hotch didn't know where to look first. Everything had happened so quickly. Garcia had called to warn him that Gideon was already on his way to the police station. A little bit too late, unfortunately.

"Prentiss!" Hotch hissed, motioning her to take care of Morgan who was now simply standing and staring, muttering a mantra that consisted of 'son of a bitch' and 'what the hell'. The female profiler permitted herself to stare a bit longer at the retired agent as well, before turning her focus on Morgan to make sure another attack wouldn't follow.

The unit chief bent down to his former colleague who had started to wipe the blood away with a handkerchief.

"You alright?" Hotch asked, not trying to keep the coldness out of voice.

Gideon nodded and stood up slowly.

The team leader straightened himself and crossed his arms before his chest. "What are you doing here?"

Gideon stuffed the blood stained piece of cloth into his pocket. He glanced briefly at Morgan and Prentiss, but ignored their shocked gazes and faced Hotch instead.

"Garcia told me where to find you. She contacted me, said that Reid's in trouble," he explained quickly.

At this, Morgan took a step forward – despite Prentiss' effort to hold him back. "_You_ asked him to come here, Hotch?!"

"Yes, he did," Gideon shot back before the BAU-chief even got a chance to reply. "So what is going on?"

Hotch placed a hand on his former friend's upper arm in an attempt to lead him to a quieter place where they could talk in private. And even more important: He had to keep Gideon out of Reid's sight. At least for now. He had no idea how the young doctor would react to his old mentor's sudden appearance.

"It's really not the best time, Jason."

"We're ready!" Jacobs suddenly called, storming into the office. "My officers are on their way. All we need is our bait."

Gideon turned to Hotch. "Bait?"

As if on cue the elevator door opened. Emerson was the first to emerge, followed by Reid who was led through the office by two guards – one on each side.

At first, the young agent kept his head down. He didn't want anyone to see him being treated like the common suspect he was. When the guards stopped he glanced up to see what was coming next.

Reid let his look wander through the room until finally his gaze fell on the person who was standing next to Hotch. The person with the split lip. The person with a facial expression that was probably not that dissimilar to his own.

The sounds and movements in the large office were still there, of course. To Reid and Gideon, however, the whole world seemed to stop. The situation was too much the same as back then in the underground. Too many painful memories were crashing down onto both of them.

And just like then in the underground maze neither of them were able to do something about it.

Reid opened his mouth to perhaps say a thing, but the guards had already been told to take him outside. He wanted to resist. He wanted to stay here. He had to convince himself that this was not a hallucination; that he hadn't finally lost it. But they pulled at him and shoved him forcefully through the office, past his colleagues and the image of the man who was probably really there or maybe just in his head. They then led him to the car that was going to take him to the man who had stolen his youthful innocence in the first place. The man who was probably really there.

Or maybe only in his head.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N:** I am so sorry for the delay. I had to get some other things out of my head first. But my focus is on this story entirely now. The next update will be sooner. Promise ;D

Thank you AA for beta reading!

Disclaimer: Criminal Minds is not mine.

**Chapter 15**

Hotch sat in the backseat next to his youngest team member. He'd insisted on staying with him during the drive. How could he not? After Gideon's sudden appearance Reid had looked so utterly confused and lost – there was no way the team leader could have left him alone any sooner than absolutely necessary.

The senior profiler listened to the oppressive silence reigning in the car driven by one of Jacobs' officers. He kept throwing nervous sideway glances at Reid. The young man hadn't looked at him, let alone spoken to him since the drive had begun. The handcuffed agent was simply staring out of the window. Every now and then, Hotch could hear him drawing deep, shivering breaths.

The unit chief was worried. He had serious doubts if his agent would be able to hold it together over the course of the night. He knew that Reid was both physically and emotionally exhausted. He also knew that the plan could only work if the young agent stayed calm. Hotch just didn't see how Reid would be able to keep his composure should he actually meet Sanders.

The team leader really wanted to blow the whole thing off. However, the choice had been made and Jacobs was determined to arrest someone tonight. They needed to catch Sanders in order to clear Reid of suspicion.

Hotch cleared his throat. "How long?" he asked the policeman behind the steering wheel.

"Five minutes," the officer replied.

They were almost there.

The senior profiler glanced at his agent again. Reid hadn't moved an inch during the trip. He was still looking out the window, as if there was something outside he couldn't tear his eyes away from.

"Reid?" Hotch asked tentatively. He knew there was no going back anymore, but he had to at least try to ease his subordinate.

The younger man didn't turn around to face his boss. "Was Gideon there?" he asked very quietly.

The older agent frowned. "Yes. You saw him."

Reid nodded weakly, still refusing to make eye contact. "Just wanted to make sure."

Everything inside Hotch screamed at him to call a stop to the mission. It was apparent that Reid was not at all in the condition to focus on his role as bait. _Thanks to Jason Gideon once again_, Hotch mused wryly.

"Reid, don't think about Gideon now. You can talk to him later, " Hotch said firmly. "I need you to stay alert. Concentrate on the case. We have to find Christian."

Now Reid turned around. He looked at his superior with big eyes. "Talk to him?" His speech sounded slurred somehow, as if he was still under the influence of the sedative – which wasn't possible, given how much time had passed.

"Reid, focus," Hotch ordered, more forcefully this time. He knew they had almost reached their destination. Soon enough the young doctor would be on his own, waiting for a potential murderer to find him.

Reid blinked and shook his head in an attempt to make all the voices and images go away.

"I don't wanna talk to him," he said fearfully, his breath becoming faster and shallow.

At that point Hotch seriously considered to tell the officer to drive them back to the station.

"Here we are," the policeman announced just then. The car stopped and the driver climbed out of the vehicle.

Hotch sighed. It was too late. He knew that. Dozens of cops were already on the street. The second car with Morgan, Prentiss and Jacobs had arrived too. The team leader moved out of the vehicle and walked around to let Reid out as well.

Slowly, the younger man stepped out. Hotch placed one hand on his shoulder to get the agent's attention.

"Reid, we're here. You know the plan," he started. "I'll go with you to the place where the latest murder happened. You will continue alone and go the club. You know the way, don't you?"

The younger man looked around. He saw Morgan and Prentiss talking to the detective. He wondered what they were talking about. About him, perhaps? What did Morgan tell Jacobs? Did Morgan even know about...these things? Jase had said that everybody knows. _Everybody._

"Reid."

He could hear his boss calling him again.

Hotch knew too. Reid was sure of it. It had been Hotch who had found him in the desert. On the bed...

"Reid!" the senior profiler almost yelled at his agent. "Are you listening?"

The younger man brought his cuffed hands to his forehead. His hair had fallen into his face again. He needed to tuck the strands behind his ears.

Suddenly he could feel Hotch's grip tighten on his shoulder. He wanted to draw back, but he couldn't move.

"Reid, look at me," Hotch said in his most authoritative tone. "Look at me!"

The younger man did. He forced himself to focus on his superior's face. It took a lot of willpower to ignore the thunderstorm of noises and pictures in his head.

"This is important, Reid. We have to find him. Tell me that you can do it," Hotch demanded earnestly.

Reid nodded.

"Tell me," the senior profiler urged. "Say the words."

"I can...I think so," the younger man replied quietly. He wondered why he couldn't hear his own voice. Why was it so loud here? Where did all the sounds come from? Reid decided to speak again nonetheless, assuming that his boss wanted to hear something more assuring.

"I can do it, Hotch. I, uhm, I want it to be over."

The team leader gave his subordinate a tight smile. He didn't believe a word. In his opinion it was only a matter of time until his youngest agent would finally crack. All Hotch could do was pray that it wouldn't happen tonight.

"Good," he said evenly. "Let's go then."

* * *

The office of the PD was nearly empty. Almost everyone had gone out on the streets to help catching the killer. Civilians, of course, were not allowed to be in the field during a mission. Too high the risk of someone getting caught in a possible cross fire.

That was why Dr. Gerald Emerson and the retired SSA Jason Gideon had been left behind at the station. The two men were not very happy about that – for very similar reasons.

Emerson had tried to convince Hotch that Reid would need psychological support. However, the senior profiler had agreed with Jacobs who had found it irresponsible to get more people involved than necessary.

Gideon also wanted to come along, but Hotch had told him in a very icy tone that Reid could do without his old mentor's disturbing presence. And the older man couldn't help but agree. He knew he'd shown up at a particularly bad time and it was certainly not his intention to distress his former protégé further.

Now both Emerson and Gideon sat in the waiting room of the PD, anxiously waiting for news. They knew each other, had occasionally been working together in the FBI for a couple of years, but as distinct to Hotch, Gideon wasn't Emerson's friend. The psychologist had had intense talks with the skilled profiler after Boston. He'd also heard about the agent's backdoor retreat from the FBI. Emerson could understand why Gideon had chosen to leave the bureau. However, he found it hard to comprehend why the man who had shown so much empathy for each victim – and sometimes even for the killers – had just walked out on Reid after the young man's ordeal in Las Vegas. It just didn't seem to fit.

"I'm glad you came back, Jason," Emerson said nonetheless. After all, he had been the one recommending to bring the retired profiler back. "I just wish the timing had been better." He gave a small, tired laughter, not wanting to increase the tension in the room further.

Gideon sat next to the experienced psychologist, his fingers wrapped around the cup of foul smelling coffee.

"Garcia called me. I came here as soon as possible," he explained weakly. He knew everyone was blaming him for Reid's desolate situation. He blamed himself too. Not a day had passed in the last two months where he hadn't asked himself the one question:

Had it been the right thing to go away?

'Yes', Gideon kept telling himself. He had been there in the underground maze where his friend had been held. He had seen what they had done to Reid. And even more important: Reid had seen him too. The retired profiler knew that he was a living reminder of what had happened. That's why he'd decided to leave. He had considered it the best thing to do in order to let his friend heal.

That wasn't the whole truth, though. If Gideon was honest with himself he had to admit that he had not only left because he wanted to help Reid.

Fear. At least partly, it had simply been the fear to face his protégé again that had driven the older man away.

"So you worked with him?" he asked Emerson.

The psychologist took a sip of his own coffee. "Not for long. But we talked, yes."

A few moments of silence.

"He's blaming me, isn't he?" Gideon couldn't help but ask.

"It's not about blame, Jason." Emerson sighed. "It's not about you at all. He has to come to terms with himself. He has to process what's happened to him. I don't know all the details about his ordeal in Vegas. But I know you were there and I think it might help him to talk to you about it."

The former agent shook his head. "I don't think he wants to see me."

"Let's just hope that Aaron's plan works out. We can discuss later what to do." The psychologist stood up to get himself another coffee.

Gideon watched the man disappear. He ran his fingers through his thin hair and glanced nervously at the clock on the wall. 10 pm.

_They __should be there by now._

* * *

It was the nightmare all over again. It was dark, the streets only sparsely lit by the colorful lights coming from the bars and clubs. There were people, so many people. Smoking, chattering, kissing, fighting. Crowds. Reid hated crowds. He was alone and had no choice but to go to the place where he'd tried to convince himself that he was a man – after all. It hadn't worked back then, and right now he didn't feel like a grown man either. Actually, he didn't feel much at all. Not only were the noises from the environment nagging at his nerves; there were still all those sounds and images inside his head that just wouldn't allow him to focus on the task at hand.

So Reid kept walking. His team were there. Hotch had assured him several times that his co-workers were close by.

'_You won't see us, but we will be there. Don't worry.' _

That's what Hotch had told him. Reid knew the plan. He knew that all he had to do was wait for Christian. Back at the station they had wired the young profiler so that Garcia would be able to track him if necessary. They also needed to hear him because they would only be able to arrest Christian if Reid identified him.

'_Don't forget to say his name aloud when he's there.'_

That had been Hotch's final order. The most important thing to do. _Say his name_.

Reid didn't even know if the man who seemed to be obsessed with him would come. The young doctor couldn't really imagine that Christian would step right into such an obvious trap. He knew that Reid had been arrested. Surely, the profiler mused, Christian would become suspicious if he saw him walking down the street as if nothing had happened.

As the blinking sign of the 'Pandora's Box' came into view, the young agent stopped. He was there. He wasn't supposed to go to the brightly lit entrance.

'_Stay a bit secluded. He won't feel comfortable in the lights.'_

Reid remembered Prentiss' advise. Of course, he thought, if Christian was actually going to contact him, he would most likely do it in a more shadowy area. The profiler's eyes darted nervously around, trying to make out faces. It wasn't easy to recognize anything, especially not with the blast of images flashing before his mind's eye.

The hand touching him lightly at his back caused Reid's heart to skip a beat. He spun around and was immediately shoved against the nearest wall. Then the feeling of a familiar mouth against his own lips. He placed his palms against the other man's chest, but didn't push him away. Every bit of strength that had been left, seemed to be sucked out of him now.

The kiss lasted only a few seconds, but to Reid it felt like a century.

Finally, the assaulter drew back. Only a couple of inches. Just enough for Reid to see the smile on Christian's face.

--

"Can you hear something, Garcia?" Hotch asked over his headset. He'd stayed in contact with the team's technical analyst ever since the operation had begun. The agents didn't dare to get too close to their youngest colleague. They couldn't take the risk of being discovered by Sanders. However, Garcia was monitoring Reid and kept Hotch posted about every step the young doctor took and every word he said. Although, until now, he hadn't said a thing.

"Silence," she replied curtly. "And he's still there."

Hotch glanced at Morgan who gave him a questioning look. The team leader shook his head. _Nothing._

--

"I missed you." Christian's lips merely formed the words. It was probably a whisper, but Reid couldn't hear it.

All he could hear was the screaming voice inside his head.

_Say his name!_

But for some reason he didn't have enough breath in his lungs anymore to actually articulate the words his team members were waiting for.

Christian tilted his head. He grabbed Reid's hand and whispered. "Come."

--

"Sir, he's moving." Garcia sounded alarmed. Her favorite genius boy was walking away from the rendezvous point and still hadn't said anything at all.

"What?" Hotch was more than surprised. Reid was not supposed to walk around. "Give me a direction, Garcia."

"He's only two block away from you now, heading southwest," she replied quickly.

"Tell Prentiss too. She's with Jacobs," Hotch ordered.

He looked at Morgan who was wearing a rather worried frown. "Something's wrong," the team leader said and started to run. The younger man followed his boss. He hadn't heard what Garcia had said, but he knew that expression on Hotch's face. And he knew that tone in his superior's voice. The two things combined could only mean trouble.

The profilers sprinted along the streets like hell. Both were in good shape and it didn't take long until Garcia called them through the speaker.

"Stop. He's there," she said, her eyes fixated in the blinking spots on the screen. One for Hotch and one for Reid.

The two older agents looked around. Apart from the few orange street lamps it was really dark in the empty alley Garcia had led them into. There was no sign of Reid.

"He's not here," Hotch said quietly.

"He has to be," the tech girl repeated. "I can see his signal. It's right there."

They stood in front of an old, apparently forsaken building. Morgan took a few steps and examined the vicinity closely. Approaching the house, he noticed that the big metal front door was left ajar. Which was odd considering that no-one seemed to live in there.

Morgan looked up. And he saw something standing out as a silhouette against the dark blue sky. A small shadow.

He called Hotch and indicated to the top of the building.

An unfamiliar emotion that might have been panic flickered across the unit chief's face.

"The roof."


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing! And thank you AA for beta reading!

Slight language warning for this one, I guess. Maybe. Don't know. ;D

Disclaimer: I don't own Criminal Minds.

**Chapter 16**

It was peaceful. So high, so dark, so far away from all the trouble. From the top of the abandoned building everything seemed so small. Tiny spots of light were decorating the city. Some of the spots were moving. _Car headlights_. Some of them were still. _Street lights_. Some of the spots were flashing in blue and red. _Police_.

Reid stood at the edge of the roof, looking down at the streets below. He could hear the muffled sound of sirens approaching; could see the cars coming closer. But it didn't really matter to him. He couldn't even remember how he'd gotten here. Jase, of course. No, Christian. Christian had dragged him along the streets, into the alley and up the stairs to the place where he was standing right next to him now. Reid was staring into space and at the world that didn't seem to be his world anymore.

"They're coming," the sweet voice from the left murmured.

Reid didn't reply. His voice still refused to work for him. He was out of breath from the run. His heart was beating too fast in his chest and the cool air didn't get deep enough into his lungs. His brain was dizzy, still projecting random images in his mind. Images of his mother begging him to take her back; images of slaughtered people looking at him with accusing eyes; images of a man in black and the barrel of gun pointed at his forehead; and the memory of white light hurting his eyes; the feeling of betrayal and pain and shame.

"They don't want us to be together." Again Christian's words, forcing Reid's mind back from the past.

"No," he whispered, somewhat surprised that his voice had returned. "They don't."

He felt his hand being taken by the other man. He didn't want to be touched, but what was the point in fighting it any longer?

"There's no other way, Matt," Christian said in a low tone of voice. "If we want to be together, we have to do it."

Reid was pulled a few inches closer to the abyss. He looked down. The blinking red and blue lights were right below them now. So they had come for him? Why? The young profiler didn't understand why so many people would come here. Had he done something wrong? What was he doing here anyway? Were they going to lock him up again? _Why?_

"What's going on?" he asked, his voice betraying the panic that was rising inside him.

The young agent looked at the man next to him. "Jase?"

And he felt gentle fingers stroking his cheek, brushing back the long strands of hair that stuck to his sweaty forehead.

"It's time," the other man said. He sounded almost relieved. Relieved at the prospect of finally leaving this world that had nothing to offer anymore.

Reid suddenly knew what was about to happen. It wasn't really a shocking realization, but rather the acknowledgment of something that had been lurking in the back of his mind for a very long time.

"We can't do that," he said quickly. "It's...it's not right." He tried to pull back, but the hand gripping his own kept him at the very edge of the roof.

"We have to," Christian replied evenly.

"No, we don't."

"It's very easy, Matt. Just close your eyes and let go."

And, really, it sounded so tempting in Reid's ears. It would have been so easy to just go with it and fall and finally forget all the pain and disappointment he was feeling.

Yet it was so wrong.

Reid drew his hand back – forcefully, this time. He felt the other hand reluctantly release him.

It was dark, but the young profiler could still see the hurt expression on the other man's face.

He took a step back at the same time as Christian moved even closer to the edge of the house.

"Don't do this," Reid pleaded. He didn't want to see the other man jump into death; to go through with the final plan.

However, the only reply came in the form of a weak smile, followed by an even weaker: "Goodbye, Matt."

* * *

Hotch and Morgan had almost reached the top of the stairs.

"Hotch!" the younger agent hissed and shone with his flashlight at the slightly open door that led to the roof.

The senior profiler nodded. He motioned his subordinate to stay behind him and moved on. He had no idea what to expect. Was Reid alone? Was Sanders with him? Why on the roof?

_What if we're too late?_

Hotch moved faster. He knew they had to be careful. Christian Sanders was delusional and obviously dangerous. To simply storm the roof with a little army of cops wouldn't have helped to find a peaceful way out. That's why he'd told Jacobs and his crew to stay down. On the other hand, Hotch had a hard time controlling the urge to just run out and get his agent back in one piece.

Reaching the final step, the unit chief slowly pushed the door open. With his right hand he motioned for Morgan to follow, before warily exiting upon the roof. Apart from the rays of light coming from the profilers' torches, everything was a deep opaque.

They let the lights wander around, trying to find the person they had seen from the street. After a few seconds, Hotch's movements came to an abrupt halt. He stared at the slim back of the man standing close to the rim of the roof. Way too close for Hotch's liking.

"Morgan," he murmured, drawing his agent's attention to the familiar shape of their youngest teammate as well. "Stay back."

The younger man nodded, unable to tear his eyes away from Reid.

Slowly, Hotch approached the young man who stood motionless with his back to his colleagues, seemingly unaware of their arrival.

"Reid?" the team leader called cautiously, not wanting to scare his subordinate. "Reid, turn around please."

Still the young doctor didn't move. He simply kept staring into the black deep hole where the other man had just disappeared. He could hear someone calling his name, but he wasn't ready to respond to something that was so real. He wasn't ready to face the world again. The idea of following Christian into that blissful nothingness was tempting. How much harder would it be to go back and be confronted with all those memories again?

"Reid."

Louder this time. Firm, but gentle. Hotch. Reid knew he couldn't stay in that limbo between death and life forever. He had to choose now. He turned around as in slow motion, his eyes meeting those of his boss.

"What are you doing here, Reid?" the older man asked calmly, trying to sound like a tower of strength and not to reveal his own panic.

_If __he jumps_, Hotch thought as he took a step closer to his agent, _I'll never be able to cope with that_. He remembered vividly their last argument before the kidnapping. _I sent him away. It's my fault. Not Gideon's. Not Reid's. Mine. _

"Hotch?" the younger man asked wearily. "Don't...don't...," he trailed off, but motioned his superior to stop.

The senior profiler did. Of course, he knew how to play the negotiation game. He'd been in similar situations so many times. However, nothing could have prepared him for this. He knew he was too emotionally involved and cursed himself for leaving Emerson at the station.

"Step away from the ledge, Reid," he said equally calmly.

"He's dead," the younger man replied, ignoring Hotch's order.

"Who's dead?"

"Jase. He...he just..." Again Reid didn't get the words out. He indicated helplessly towards the abyss. "I tried to stop him, but he just..."

"It's okay, Reid," Hotch assured him. He was irritated that no-one had bothered to tell him. After all, he'd been in contact with Prentiss all the time. If Sanders had actually jumped off the roof, they should have informed him. However, Hotch was careful not to show his surprise. He needed to focus on Reid now. "It's not your fault. Just come down here and we can go home."

The young profiler looked at his boss. Hotch was only a few feet away from him. Reid's eyes narrowed.

"I know what you think," he hissed.

_Everyone knows what you did. Everyone thinks you're a dirty little fag. _

Hotch frowned. "What do you mean?" He was completely out of the loop and he didn't like it at all.

Reid became more agitated. "Don't play with me, Hotch! I know what you think of me."

The unit chief made an attempt to step closer but his agent lifted his hands in a warning gesture.

"Don't come any closer!"

"Okay," Hotch agreed and stopped short. "Just tell me what you're talking about."

Reid let his arms drop. He felt suddenly very tired. Did he really have to articulate these things? Did Hotch want to hear it again? Hadn't it been enough that his boss had seen him...like that?

"You know what I did," Reid said quietly. He looked at his co-worker, before adding: "You know what I am."

And now Hotch knew what was going on. In a way he was glad to realize what this was about. On the other hand it pained him that his youngest agent had kept these thoughts to himself for so long.

"You did nothing wrong, Reid," he said firmly.

"I'm filthy," the younger man said. His voice cracked and he closed his eyes. He didn't want to see the disgusted expression on his colleague's face.

"No." Hotch didn't know where to start. "No, you're not, Reid. _Spencer_. Please, look at me."

It took a while, but eventually Reid dared to open his eyes again. He was glad that Hotch kept the flashlight down. He didn't want to humiliate himself further by crying in front of his boss. He knew he wouldn't be able to keep the tears back much longer.

"You're not filthy, Reid," Hotch repeated in a gentle tone. "It wasn't you. They are the bastards, not you. They..."

"He fucked me, Hotch!" Reid yelled out of the blue.

The cruel words echoed through the cool night air for a few very long seconds.

Morgan swallowed. Hotch winced. Reid stared with a shocked expression at his boss. He couldn't believe what he'd just said aloud. It was the brutal truth, of course. They all knew it. But no-one, least of all Reid, had been prepared for that.

"I'm...sorry. I didn't..." He wanted to take it back. He wanted to turn back the time – at least for a couple of minutes. Reid turned his head a bit to the side, glancing down at the now crowded alley. Oh God, the temptation to just stop it all then and there was almost overwhelming.

"It's alright," Hotch said quietly, trying to catch his agent's attention.

Reid turned to face his superior again. "I didn't want it," he whispered.

"I know."

"I told them to stop." He tried desperately to blink the tears away, but there were just too many.

"I know," Hotch repeated softly. He watched Reid's head drop and dared to step closer. "It wasn't your fault."

The younger man didn't seem to notice. "I should've tried harder," he murmured, more to himself than to anyone else. "Should've tried."

"You did everything you could." Hotch took one more step and was finally close enough to reach his subordinate. In a swift motion he grabbed Reid's arm and pulled him away from the edge.

The younger man didn't fight, nor did he look at his boss.

"I just want it to stop," Reid said weakly. "I'm so tired."

"I know."

Hotch laid his arm around his agent's shoulder and led him to the door and back into the building. Morgan watched the two men disappear and walked close the rim of the roof. He looked down. It was really high. No-one could survive such a massive fall, he mused. And he felt a small glimmer of satisfaction deep inside, thinking that at least one of Reid's tormentors had gotten what he'd deserved.

--

When Hotch and Reid had reached the ground floor again and stepped out of the building, they were greeted by Prentiss and Jacobs.

The policeman approached them quickly. "What the hell happened up there?"

The unit chief ignored him at first. "Prentiss," he said and motioned her to come closer. "Take him to the car. Don't leave him alone," he ordered.

Somewhat startled by the worn-out look of their youngest team member, the brunette agent just nodded and led Reid to one of the SUVs.

"What happened?" Jacobs asked again, getting more and more impatient. Apparently, the mission hadn't gone as planned and he wanted to know why.

Hotch rubbed his eyes. "Nothing happened. We...talked," he said, deciding that the detective didn't need to know all the details.

"You talked?!"

"Yes," the senior profiler retorted. "Let's leave it there." He looked around. "So where is the body?"

A puzzled expression on Jacobs' face. "What body?"

* * *

A/N2: **;)**


	17. Chapter 17

A/N: Thanks to everyone who took the time to read and review! And special thanks to the lovely AA for doing the beta thing ;D

Disclaimer: I don't own Criminal Minds.

**Filthy 17**

Wordlessly, Hotch poured the expensive scotch into the glasses. The team leader was dead tired and wanted nothing more than to lie down and rest. However, he felt he was still too upset to find sleep right now. He needed to unwind; to settle down in his favorite armchair in his own living room.

Hotch handed one of the glasses to Gideon who sat equally silent on the couch. The unit chief had offered his former colleague to spend the night in his guest room. Since Haley and Jack had moved out, there was too much space in the house anyway.

"Thank you," Gideon murmured as he took the drink from the younger man. He watched Hotch slump down into the armchair which was facing the couch.

"So Prentiss went with Reid?" the retired profiler asked, before taking a small sip of scotch.

Hotch nodded wearily. The female agent had volunteered to take Reid back to the clinic together with Emerson. After a long argument, Hotch had managed to convince Jacobs to let the young profiler go back to the sanatorium and to not have him locked up in the prison cell again. Being too exhausted to struggle with the former prosecutor any longer, the detective had reluctantly agreed - on the condition that the hospital room was guarded by two police officers.

When Hotch made no attempt to say anything, Gideon went on: "Gerald told me what happened."

The younger man gave him a short glance and brought the glass to his lips. "Good," he mumbled before taking a slug of his drink.

Gideon wasn't sure what to make of the situation. He was sure that Hotch was still somewhat angry with him. On the other hand the team leader had invited him into his home.

"You told Garcia to locate me," the older man said after a long minute of silence.

"Yes."

"I really don't know how I'm supposed to help Reid," Gideon pointed out. He put the half empty glass on the coffee table and leaned back, his gaze focused on Hotch. He wanted a few answers now. "What do you expect from me, Hotch?"

The senior profiler smiled humorlessly. "Nothing, Jason. I expect nothing from you." There was no anger in Hotch's voice. He just sounded very tired and definitely fed up with the world.

"Gerald deemed it a good idea to get you here," he explained quietly. "I have no idea why. But I trust him and Reid seems to get along with him."

"He's good," Gideon agreed. "I'm sure he's the best one to help Reid."

Hotch gave his former co-worker a scrutinizing stare. Finally: "We found him with a bloodied knife, Jason. He might have killed those people."

"No," the older man replied quickly. "We're talking about Reid here. He would never harm anyone. You know that!"

Hotch shook his head. He wanted to agree; he wanted to have faith in his youngest agent, but it was getting harder and harder to ignore all the doubts that had crept into the back of his mind.

"Reid isn't himself anymore," he said calmly. "He hasn't been ever since Vegas. Even if the murders hadn't taken place, I don't think that..." Hotch trailed off, not wanting to say it aloud.

Gideon knew, of course. "You don't think he'll get over it?"

"You know what happened after Georgia," the team leader said thoughtfully.

The retired profiler frowned. "This is different."

"Yes. It's worse."

Again, they fell silent. There seemed to be so much to say, yet so little they could do.

"I'm glad you were there for him," Gideon said after a while. "He knows that you and the team always stand behind him."

Hotch snorted dismissively. "Yeah." He stood up and started to move towards the bedroom. "Unfortunately it wasn't me he needed there, Jason. He needed you."

* * *

"How much longer?" Prentiss asked quietly from the back seat.

"Only a few minutes. We're almost there." Gerald Emerson rode shot gun, giving the driving officer the direction to the St. Lousianne's Sanatorium. The psychologist was very concerned about the events of the night. According to Hotch, Reid had actually considered to jump off the roof. And, even worse, the young man seemed to believe that Sanders had committed suicide. Since there had been no body found anywhere near the building, Emerson was seriously worried about his patient's mental condition – much more than before the mission.

However, the doctor was glad that Hotch had persuaded Jacobs to let Reid return to the hospital. Emerson was convinced that the young man didn't belong in a prison cell, especially not after tonight. He glanced back through the rear window of the SUV and saw the headlights of the second police car behind them. The psychologist didn't think that Reid needed to be watched by cops, but he understood that the detective wanted to keep a close eye on his suspect.

As the car made a turn to the right, Prentiss noticed the sanatorium come into sight. They'd been on the road for almost an hour and she was glad to finally be there. The night had been exhausting for everyone, but Hotch had looked particularly worn out. That's why she'd decided to accompany Emerson and Reid on the way back to the clinic.

The profiler looked at her colleague who lay curled up on the back seat next to her. Reid had fallen asleep almost instantly after she had brought him to the car. Prentiss couldn't help but smile at the sight of her sleeping co-worker. She knew he was brilliant and a very gifted profiler. She also knew that he didn't like being considered a kid who needed to be protected.

Still...he looked so terribly young. Young and vulnerable and Prentiss could feel her maternal instincts kick in. She wanted to help him, to show her support, but didn't know how. She hadn't gotten the chance to talk to him since Vegas. Neither had JJ or Garcia. Prentiss understood that Hotch had wanted to protect Reid's privacy. Nonetheless, it had hurt the women to be left out in the cold. They cared about their youngest too, just as much as the others did.

The dark haired agent was startled out of her thoughts when the driver stopped the engine.

"Let's go," Emerson said quietly and climbed out of the car.

Prentiss tentatively touched her sleeping colleague's arm. "Reid, wake up. We're here."

The younger man's eyes snapped open immediately. He jerked back, causing Prentiss to take her hand away. He stared at her for a few seconds, apparently struggling to figure out what was going on.

"Emily?"

She gave him a friendly smile.

"We're back at the hospital, Reid," the older agent explained calmly. "It's time to get some rest."

They led the young profiler back to his room. A couple of times Reid's legs wanted to give way, and that forced Prentiss and Emerson to support him from both sides.

It was a silent, straining walk through the quiet sanatorium. Due to the late hour, there were no patients to be seen and only a few staff members who were working the night shift.

After what seemed like an eternity, they finally arrived at Reid's room.

"Careful," Emerson murmured as he led his patient through the door. The psychologist switched on the light as he stepped over the threshold. "There we are."

Reid slumped down onto the bed, his forehead bathing in cold sweat. Prentiss sat down right next to him.

"You alright?" she asked Reid, worried about the unhealthy white color on his face.

The younger man nodded barely noticeably. He glanced nervously at Prentiss, then at Emerson who was standing at the door.

"I tried to stop him," Reid said quietly. "He didn't have to jump. I tried..." The young profiler let his gaze drop.

Prentiss frowned and gave Emerson a questioning look. She thought that now was probably not the time to tell Reid that...

"But I'm glad it's over, Emily," the younger man continued.

Prentiss felt sick. _Of course_, she realized. Of course, Reid had to think that the case was over now. After all, they hadn't brought him back to the cell. Not to mention that he was still convinced that Sanders was dead. _Oh God..._

"Uhm, Reid, I...," she began hesitantly.

"You should get some sleep, Spencer," Emerson cut her off. He gave Prentiss a slight shake of head, signalizing her that right now was definitely not the best time to talk about the case.

She bit her lower lip. It felt so cruel to keep the truth away from Reid. On the other hand she knew that Emerson was right. The young man needed rest more than anything else at the moment.

"I want to shower first," Reid said weakly. Without making eye contact with anyone, he stood up and walked to the little bathroom.

Prentiss and Emerson watched him disappear, then listened to the sound of running water.

The psychologist sighed. "How about a coffee? We have a great espresso machine here."

The female agent gave him a warm smile. "Sounds good."

--

Reid leaned with his back against the tiles, enjoying the feeling of too hot water running down his tired body. It had been too long. He'd taken his last shower the day before at the police station. With Hotch watching him...

_No_, Reid thought and closed his eyes. _Don't think about it. _

He didn't want to think about anything anymore. Not tonight. He just wanted to get the dirt off his skin and then go to bed and try to go back into that blissful nothingness.

Reid turned off the water and stepped out of the cubicle, wrapping one of the big white towels around his hip.

_Damn,_ he cursed inwardly as he noticed that he'd forgotten to bring his pajama to the bathroom. There was no way he could put on those filthy clothes again. For a minute Reid simply stood there, wondering what to do. _It's just Emily and Gerald out there_, the young profiler reminded himself. _Nothing to worry about_.

Heaving a deep sigh, he opened the bathroom door and stepped out. The people who were awaiting him, however, were not his friends. Two big uniformed men stood at the door, watching him as he emerged from the bathroom. Reid's heart skipped a beat.

"Who...what...?" he squeezed out, not knowing what to ask first.

"We're gonna keep you company tonight," one of the police officers said listlessly. He looked at the skinny wet kid he'd been told to keep an eye on tonight. "Wanna get dry maybe?" He asked, a smirk on his face.

Once again, Reid felt panic rising inside. _What are they doing here? Why are they looking at me like that?_

"Uhm, where is Dr. Emerson?" he asked meekly, trying to sound as calm as possible.

The officer shrugged. "Dunno."

Reid's eyes darted through the room. The men were blocking the door. _I have to get out of here_.

"Maybe," he began with a shivering voice. "Maybe I should go and find him." The young profiler moved slowly towards to exit.

The cops reacted instantly, pressing their backs against the door. "You're not going anywhere, boy," the taller one of them said firmly.

Reid felt trapped. He had to get out of the room. Now. He took a step further. "I...I just want to see..."

"Not gonna happen," the officer shot back and started to approach the smaller man with the towel.

And that was too much. Reid almost jumped at the policeman, gathering all the energy that was left inside him to fight his way to the door handle.

_I need to get out. _

* * *

It was about 20 minutes later that Aaron Hotchner got the call.

"What?" he asked rather unfriendly, wondering if he would ever get some sleep again.

"Aaron, sorry to disturb you," Emerson replied. "I think you should come here. Jacobs is already on his way."

Hotch sat now upright in his bed. "What's going on?"

A few seconds of uneasy silence.

"It's about Spencer. We had to restrain him," the doctor explained. "He...he's lost it somehow."

Hotch was already on his feet, holding his cell in one hand, picking up his clothes with the other.

"Lost it? What are you talking about? What happened?"

A sigh on the other side. "He attacked a police officer."


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N:** I hurried with the chapter because I wanted to update before I go to Sweden to visit AA. I will stay there for a week and I'm not sure if we will find the time to write ;)

Again, I want to thank you all for reading and reviewing!

Disclaimer: I don't own Criminal Minds.

**Chapter 18**

Aaron Hotchner and Jason Gideon climbed wordlessly up the stairs inside the St. Lousianne's Sanatorium. They hadn't talked during the drive either. There wasn't much to say, really. At first, the BAU chief had wanted to go alone to the clinic, but Gideon had insisted on coming with him. Hotch just hadn't been in the mood for an argument with his former colleague, and had agreed.

The two men walked swiftly through the empty corridors on the second floor. Since the team leader had been in Emerson's office once, he knew the way. Silently, he led Gideon to the psychologist's room.

Hotch and Gideon entered the office without knocking.

"What the hell happened?" the unit chief asked as soon as he stepped over the threshold. He took a look around and noticed that everyone had gathered in the room. Emerson sat behind his desk, facing Detective Jacobs. Apparently, the doctor had been arguing with the policeman before Hotch's interrupting. Both men fell silent and shifted their focus to the profilers at the door.

Prentiss was on a chair, her head resting against the wall. On the small couch next to her sat another police officer, pressing a damp cloth against his cheek.

"Aaron, I'm glad you're here," Emerson said quickly. He stood up and moved around the desk towards his old friend.

"What's going on, Gerald?" Hotch asked again, his gaze wandering to the obviously injured cop.

"I can tell you what happened," Jacobs replied before Emerson had the chance to speak. "Your agent attacked my officer. I told you we should keep him in the cell, but you wouldn't listen and now..."

"Alright, stop it," the senior profiler interrupted. He gave Jacobs a stern look and turned to the other officer on the couch.

Never taking the cloth away from his face, the man glanced up, sending a questioning glance in his superior's direction. With an impatient gesture the detective motioned him to spill the beans already.

"We were keeping watch outside in the hallway," the policeman began. "Everything was quiet until someone started to scream like hell in the room. I went inside to see what was going on. And as I turned on the light the little freak jumped at me!"

"Watch your mouth," Hotch said sharply.

The officer rose from the sofa. He finally took the cloth away from his cheek, revealing a nasty looking wound.

"'Watch you mouth'?" he repeated incredulously and took a step closer to the senior profiler. "He attacked me!" The cop pointed at his injury. "He wanted to rip my face off!"

"Well, apparently you survived," Hotch shot back. He looked at Emerson. "How could you leave him alone with two men?" he wanted to know. After all, the psychologist knew exactly how uncomfortable the young agent felt around strangers, especially male strangers.

"He wasn't alone," Prentiss interjected. "I was with him in the room. I must have fallen asleep, I'm sorry," she said quietly.

Hotch looked at her in surprise. "What happened?" he asked, more softly this time.

The female profiler cleared her throat. "Reid was very exhausted. He came out of the shower and collapsed onto the bed. I don't think he even noticed that I stayed with him in the room," Prentiss explained. "I woke up when he started to scream. He must have been having a nightmare. Then he came in," she indicated to the policeman. "The lights went on and suddenly Reid was on him. It happened so fast, I couldn't stop him in time."

The team leader stared at Prentiss, then his eyes wandered to Emerson. "And you restrained him? Was there no other way? I mean...he's not that strong."

"We didn't have a choice, Aaron," the psychologist said calmly, remembering how furious the young man had been when Emerson arrived at the scene. "I tried to talk to him, but he fought like a trapped animal. I had to give him a sedative and restrain him. He's asleep now."

"You mean he's drugged now," Hotch retorted angrily. He couldn't understand how things could have gotten so heavily out of hand. Of course everyone was really exhausted by now, he mused, but something like that was just not supposed to happen. And he was sure that Reid's condition would only get worse after tonight.

"We should take him to the station," Jacobs suddenly announced. "He's dangerous and he belongs behind bars."

"No," the psychologist stated firmly. "Spencer wouldn't harm anyone willingly. It was just an unfortunate series of events. It won't happen again."

The detective shook his head. He was sick and tired of all the excuses made for the fed. To him, the situation was very simple. The kid was strongly suspected of murder and had to be locked up in a cell.

"With all due respect doctor," he said. "It's not your call. You've proven that you're not able to keep him under control. I won't take any more chances."

"He's constrained and sedated. What could he possibly do?" Prentiss asked tiredly.

The detective looked at her. And sighed. He just wanted this case to be over. He wanted to go home to his wife and his two teenage daughters – even though they were at a rather annoying age at the moment.

"Alright," he finally agreed. "He can stay here for the night. But this is not a long-term solution. I expect the results of the DNA sample from the knife by tomorrow." Jacobs looked at Hotchner. "Things will become clearer then."

The team leader nodded. He didn't really doubt that the blood on the knife belonged to the latest victim. The much more important question was whether Reid had been the one using the weapon or not. More specifically: had Sanders actually been there or not?

"Let's wait for the results," Hotch replied evenly, knowing that said results weren't going to be of much help to clear things up.

"Is he alone now?" Gideon asked out of the blue. He hadn't said a word until then.

"Yes, he needs to rest," Emerson explained.

"I want to see him."

* * *

_I can't move. I'm lying stretched out on my back and I can't move. Something's holding me down. My arms are bound. I can feel it. And there's something in my system that won't allow me to get up._

_My hair has fallen into my face; there are strands in my eyes. I can hardly stand it. I can't wipe the hair away because I can't move my arms. I try to blink it away, but it's not enough. I feel tears building up and slowly running down the side of my face and onto the pillow. _

_I wonder why they did that to me. I think Emily was there. Or was it JJ? A woman. Someone I used to trust, I'm sure. And I remember Gerald's voice telling them to strap me to the bed. I don't understand. I haven't done anything. I just wanted to get out._

"Sshh, it's okay."

_I hear that voice again. That's impossible. He's dead. I want to turn my head to see, but still I can't even move an inch. As if I was restrained on the inside as well. _

"They drugged you."

_He tells me. I know they did. _

_Now I feel his hand stroking the hair out of my eyes. Finally._

"Thank you."

_I whisper. Or perhaps I just think the words._

"You're so beautiful."

_He says. And all I can think is 'no'._

_His hand is still on my face, his fingers following the lines of my tears._

"Yes, you are."

_And now he's coming closer. I can feel the heat of his body. How can he be alive? I saw him falling. _

_His lips on my mouth and I want to scream and and push him away. But I can't._

"I have to leave you for a little while."

_He whispers as he breaks the kiss. _

_And suddenly I don't want him to go. I want him to help me. Someone, please, let me out._

"I have to give them what they deserve."

_I blink. I don't know what he means. 'They'?_

"But I'll come back for you. I won't let you down. I'm not like them."

_His voice is fading already. I can hardly understand him anymore. But I can hear the door being opened..._

* * *

Gideon and Emerson stepped quietly into the small hospital room. Hotch and Prentiss had stayed back in the office to discuss the further procedure with the policemen. Since Reid had been sedated and was most likely deeply asleep anyway, the psychologist had allowed Gideon to see his former protégé.

The men walked slowly to the bed where the agent lay flat on his back, his arms bound to the sides of the bed frame. Reid's eyes were slightly open.

"Can he hear us?" Gideon asked tentatively. The sight of the young genius almost broke his heart. To see the once so promising, eager profiler lying there helpless and drugged was hardly bearable for the older man.

"I don't think so," Emerson replied softly. "You shouldn't stay too long though." The psychologist gave Gideon a light assuring pat on the shoulder and left the room. He was sure that there must have been a strong bond between those two profilers before the senior agent had left the Bureau. He thought it would be good for them to re-establish their relationship in order to help Reid heal.

Gideon waited until the door fell shut, then moved closer to the bed. To be honest, he'd dreaded the moment of the reunion with his young friend. The retired profiler found it hard enough to cope with his failure himself; he wasn't sure how to deal with the person he had abandoned too many times. He didn't know if he would be able to handle Reid's reproaches.

At the moment, however, the young man didn't even have the chance to utter anything at all. No questions, no accusations, no insults, no explanations.

To Gideon, it felt like betrayal. There he was. After all the time he'd finally managed to come back and account for his actions and then...nothing.

_It's not fair_, the former agent mused as he looked down at the younger man.

Aloud he said: "I guess you'd like to shout at me." He smiled self-deprecatingly. "I wish you could. I wish we could talk."

There was no reaction. Reid just lay there. Every now and then his eyelids closed for a moment. His fingers twitched slightly and sometimes he seemed to take deep breaths that reminded of sighs.

_Mere bodily reactions_, Gideon thought sadly. _He's completely out of it._

Nonetheless, he felt the urge to talk – if only to let Reid know he wasn't alone.

"I found a nice cabin in California. It's very close to the ocean. I'm sure you would love it there," he said lightly. "It's nothing special. Just a small cottage near the coast. But it's very peaceful."

The older man heaved a sigh. "I'm sorry, Reid. This should never have happened. I, uhm..." he trailed off, realizing that only a coward would apologize to someone who was totally oblivious to his surroundings. Therefore, Gideon decided to let the young man rest for a while. "Good night. I...I have to leave now," he said and started to move towards the exit.

Just as he gripped the door handle, he could hear a very quiet voice from behind, saying: "Don't." It was barely audible. More a breath than a word.

The retired profiler turned around abruptly. "Reid?" he asked and stepped back to the bed. "What did you say?"

The young agent hadn't changed his position at all; had not even turned his head. However, his mouth was slightly open, his lips moving as if trying to form words.

Gideon leaned down to understand what the younger man wanted to say.

"Don't what?" he asked again, thinking that perhaps Reid didn't want him to go away.

"Don't," Reid started again. A whisper into his old mentor's ear. "Don't forget...to leave a letter."


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N:** Sorry for the long wait! I'm back from my trip to Sweden. AA and I - we were very productive, but in another way :) Of course, I want to thank you all for the kind reviews and for your patience! Not many more chapters to go now.

Disclaimer: Criminal Minds is not mine.

**Chapter 19**

It was half past eight in the morning when Gerald Emerson exited his office with a big file in his hands. The night had been over too soon. He'd barely slept four hours after the police officers and the federal agents had left the sanatorium. Of course, one of the policemen had stayed to keep watch outside of Reid's room. Even though the young agent had been incapacitated, Jacobs had insisted on leaving a guard at the door.

Gideon hadn't said a word after his visit to Reid's room. Emerson didn't know what had happened, but the retired profiler had looked anything but happy. Silently, he'd gone home with Hotch.

The psychologist knew that Reid wouldn't be permitted to stay any longer at St. Lousianne's. Not after the attack. Emerson was convinced that the young man's violent outburst had been the result of a nightmare. Being faced with an unknown man after a bad dream must have been a shock for Reid. Still...Jacobs wasn't going to accept excuses anymore.

Emerson had a pretty good idea of where they were going to put his patient. Certainly someone would come and take him to a more secure institution. No-one would be able to prevent that from happening. Now it was the psychologist's turn to prepare Reid for the inevitable.

"Any trouble?" Emerson asked the police officer who was sitting on a chair next to the door to Reid's room.

Never taking his eyes from the newspaper on his lap, the cop shook his head.

Emerson knocked gently on the door. Since there was no reply, he opened it and stepped in. He sighed at the view of his young patient being strapped to the bed. Constraining people wasn't a common method in the sanatorium. And even though it had been necessary to do so the night before, Emerson couldn't help but feel guilty about his actions. He knew that this kind of treatment would only worsen Reid's already fragile emotional state.

"Good morning, Spencer," he said as he approached the bed. Emerson noticed that the younger man's eyes were open, staring at the ceiling.

The psychologist was sure that the effect of the medication must have worn off by now. He sat down on a chair next to the bed, hoping that the events of the night before hadn't damaged the young man beyond repair.

"Spencer? Can you hear me?" he asked in a friendly, yet firm tone.

Very slowly, Reid turned his head in the older man's direction. He didn't say anything, just looked at the doctor with tired eyes.

Emerson put on a slight smile. "Hey," he said quietly. "We need to talk about a couple of things."

Reid blinked once.

The older man leaned in a bit closer. "It's important for you to understand what I am saying. Talk to me, Spencer."

The young agent licked his dry lips and swallowed audibly. "Shower," he whispered.

Emerson rubbed the bridge of his nose. _Of course_, he thought.

Aloud he said: "I can't remove the chains right now. You will have to wait until Aaron arrives. I'm sure he's on his way."

_And Jacobs too_, the psychologist added inwardly.

He forced himself to ignore the pleading expression on his patient's face, and continued with the matter at hand.

"Spencer, do you remember what happened last night?"

The younger man seemed to think about it for a few seconds. Finally he nodded.

"Good," Emerson said. "Can you tell me what happened on the roof? How did you get there?"

Reid stared at the psychologist, then turned his gaze to the ceiling again. "He...he took me there."

"Who took you there?" the older man asked tentatively.

Reid closed his eyes. "Jase."

Emerson opened the folder in his hands and started to make notes.

He cleared his throat. "What happened then?"

"I...I tried to..." Reid shook his head. "I thought he had jumped. But...but then..."

Emerson watched his patient struggling for words. It pained him to see the young man pulling at the restraints. It wasn't an attempt to get free, just the natural urge to gesture while speaking.

"Then what?" he asked calmly.

Suddenly Reid went completely limp. He didn't pull at the chains anymore, but seemed to almost melt with the white mattress that matched the color on his face. As if something very heavy kept him down, sucking all remaining strength out of him.

"He's still here," Reid whispered. He closed his eyes tightly, but one single tear still managed to escape and rolled down his cheek.

"Spencer..."

"I know," the young agent interrupted quickly. "I know it's not possible, but I heard him...he...he..."

Emerson tried to sooth his patient. "It's okay..."

"It's not okay!" Reid shot back loudly, his eyes now fixated on the psychologist. "I'm all messed up! It seems so real and I don't...I can't..."

The older man kept quiet. He wanted to give Reid time to express his thoughts.

After a few seconds of silence, the profiler exhaled laboriously. "I'm trying to figure it out, but you keep drugging me and I...I just can't think straight."

Emerson nodded. In fact he'd been very careful with the medication; had only used meds if absolutely necessary. Still he could understand the younger man's reasoning.

"I'm sorry about the treatment last night, Spencer. You hurt a police officer. We needed to calm you," he said steadily. "Do you remember?"

Reid looked with big eyes at the doctor. Had he actually attacked someone? He couldn't remember. Only blurred and mixed up images about last night's events kept flashing in his mind. Images of blue and red lights, familiar and not so familiar faces, the sound of voices. He remembered Hotch talking to him, and Jase whispering into his ear and...

_Oh God_, Reid thought as another memory struck him.

"Was Gideon here?" he asked quietly.

The psychologist gave him a faint smile. "Yes. He came to visit. I thought you were asleep."

The young agent was about to ask further questions about his old mentor's whereabouts when the door opened.

"What the hell is that?" Morgan exclaimed as he stepped into the room. He stared at the restraints around Reid's wrists and ankles, then at Emerson. "It can't be necessary to tie him up like that."

"Morgan," Hotch hissed from behind, a warning tone in his voice. "Stop it."

As the team leader stepped closer to the bed, Emerson rose from his chair. Both men shook hands, before turning wordlessly to Reid who was now looking at the opposite wall. It was obvious that he didn't want to face his colleagues.

"Where is Jason?" Emerson asked very quietly as he lead the profiler away from the bed.

"I told him to stay at the station. Apparently, Reid didn't react too well to him last night," Hotch murmured. He quickly changed the subject. "Jacobs will be here soon," he stated in a low voice.

The team had gathered at the police station very early. It hadn't been a big surprise that the head detective had already arrived.

"He has the results of the DNA test," the unit chief said.

Emerson frowned. "Already? That was quick."

"Well, the sample had priority. The blood on the knife indeed belonged to the latest victim," Hotch stated evenly. He'd expected that result. Unfortunately, Jacobs had now hard evidence against Reid. He'd told the profilers that 'the suspect' was going to be moved to a closed facility today. No further discussion.

"That's not good," Emerson replied, glancing at his patient. "He's in a bad state. Both physically and mentally. I doubt seriously that he will last in a prison."

Hotch sighed. "It's not a prison, it's..."

"It's close enough. You know how they deal with people, especially with..."

It was Reid himself who interrupted the hushed conversation. "They will take me away, won't they?"

Everyone's gazes shifted to the young man on the bed.

Morgan was the first to look away. He couldn't reply. He knew if he opened his mouth to speak, some severely disrespectful words would emerge his lips and Hotch would tell him to take a walk. Therefore, he decided to keep silent. For now.

"I'm afraid so, Reid," the team leader said, trying not to show his fear for his youngest agent too openly. "It's protocol." Hotch was aware of how empty those words sounded, but he couldn't think of anything more assuring.

Reid looked at his boss. For a moment he forgot the two other persons in the room. He just focused on Hotch's face, trying to read his superior's eyes. Perhaps, he figured, perhaps Hotch couldn't talk freely with the others around. Perhaps his boss had a plan he couldn't give away right now. An ace up his sleeve. The young profiler found it impossible to believe that his friends were going to have him locked up like a psychopath.

So he kept staring at Hotch. And Hotch looked back. However, there was nothing. Pain, yes. Certainly worry and regret. But no glimmer of hope. Nothing.

Reid blinked and looked away. "Can I have a shower before?"

"Sure thing, kid," Morgan said instantly and started to remove the restraints.

"Morgan, we should..."

"What, Hotch?" the younger agent asked angrily. "Do you think he's gonna knock me out?"

The team leader sighed. "Alright. But hurry. I don't think we have much time."

Morgan continued to free Reid and helped him silently into an upright position.

"I have to come with you, buddy," he said on the threshold, knowing that his young colleague wouldn't like it.

But Reid understood that much. He'd stood at the edge of a roof the night before. Of course, they wouldn't let him go anywhere alone.

Hotch and Emerson watched the younger men disappear in the little bathroom.

The psychologist was the first to speak. "So what are you going to do about it?"

The unit chief knew very well what Emerson was talking about, but there really wasn't a satisfying answer.

"I don't know. We have to find Sanders," he said and rubbed his forehead.

The door opened again. More forcefully this time. Samuel Jacobs and two other cops entered the room.

"Where is he?" the detective blurted instantly, more than just a hint of panic in his voice.

Hotch lifted his hands in a calming gesture. "He's just taking a shower."

Jacobs glanced from Hotch to the bathroom door. The sound of running water confirmed the profiler's statement and the policeman relaxed again.

"The papers are signed. We have enough evidence to keep him in custody. I called the Virginia State penitentiary."

Hotch nodded. There was simply no way to prevent it from happening. Not even for a brilliant prosecutor like him.

--

Morgan sat on the toilet lid, waiting for Reid to finish his shower. He kept his head down, of course. He wouldn't have liked exposing himself in front of his co-workers either, even though he wasn't nearly as shy and self-conscious as Reid. Therefore, Morgan understood how hard the situation must be for the younger man.

He heard the cops arriving. Once again, he couldn't help but wonder why Hotch let this happen. Morgan knew that none of this was his boss' doing, but they all had gotten so used to Hotch dealing with politics; handling tricky situations; finding a solution. And now their unit chief just stood there and watched? Morgan knew it wasn't fair, but he was pissed. Pissed at Hotch, at Gideon, at the shrink and at the cops. And at himself. He couldn't stop the voice in his head saying he should have done something. What? Morgan had no idea. All he knew was that one of the most gentle and intelligent people he'd ever met was going to be locked up and drugged and treated like a wild animal in captivity.

"Damn," Morgan murmured as the dimension of the current situation became painfully clear to him. For the very first time he realized that they could actually lose Reid; that – perhaps – they already had.

Grabbing a towel, Reid stepped out of the narrow shower cubicle, putting an end to his colleague's dark thoughts.

The younger man quickly got dressed. When he was done, Morgan stood up and made an attempt to open the door. Reid's hand stopped him.

The older man abruptly turned around, looking down at the skinny hand placed on his own strong arm. A touch. A very light, almost imperceptible touch. Still it was physical contact – initiated by Reid. So simple, yet completely unexpected. Most important: it was a sign that said: _I trust you_.

"I didn't do it, Morgan. I didn't kill these people," Reid stated slowly but firmly. He held his colleague's gaze, hesitantly pulling his hand back.

"I know, Reid." And Morgan meant it. Granted, he'd had his doubts at the beginning. However, deep inside he'd always be convinced that his friend was innocent. A victim himself. Not a murderer.

Reid's eyes wandered to the door. He could hear Jacobs' voice outside. "You believe me?"

"Of course, I believe you."

A knock on the door startled them both. "I think we have to go now," the older agent said sadly.

Reid nodded. "Thank you, Morgan."

--

The drive to the Virginia State Hospital for the criminally insane took about fifty minutes. Reid was in the backseat with his hands cuffed behind his back. Jacobs sat right next to him, throwing suspicious glances at the younger man.

Hotch had insisted on staying with his subordinate. He was in the passenger seat, every now and then looking back to see if everything was alright. Nothing was alright, in fact. Hotch's mind kept racing, trying to figure out how to spare Reid yet another ordeal. But every strategy he could come up with ended with the conclusion: _we need Sanders_. Or another murder. Hotch almost winced as he realized what he was thinking. Of course, he didn't want anyone else to die. Then again: If Reid was locked up while another killing takes place...

_No_, the senior profiler mused. He couldn't rely on the vague 'hope' that the real Unsub would strike again. He needed to gather his team and finally do his job: find the Unsub.

_If there is an Unsub at all..._

Then the car stopped and Hotch decided to focus on his youngest agent instead. He knew Reid would need all the support he could get now.

Numbly, the unit chief walked behind his subordinate and the cops who half-led, half-dragged the profiler into the very secure looking building.

Two staff members that reminded a bit of Tristan Stuart's goons were awaiting them in the hallway. The men in the white coats wordlessly took Reid by his arms, while the director of the hospital talked with Jacobs.

Hotch decided to follow his agent who kept turning his head around to his boss. It was apparent that Reid had trouble keeping pace with the guards or nurses or whoever they were. By the weak looks of the young man, the team leader was actually worried that his agent's legs would give way. But the room – or rather cell – wasn't far away. Standing in front of the massive looking door with the tiny window in it, one of the guys started fiddling with the keys. He unlocked the door and pulled it open, gesturing Reid to step inside.

"The doctor will come to check on you in thirty minutes. Lunch at 12, dinner at 6. Shower time every morning at 7," the man with the keys said mechanically. "Co-operate and we'll get along just fine."

Reid stepped slowly into the cell. It wasn't like St. Lousianne's. There was nothing. The room seemed to consist of walls and walls only.

He turned to Hotch who eyed the room with a worried expression on his face.

"Hotch, please don't leave me here," Reid said, not caring about the pitifully pleading tone in his voice.

"I can't do anything, Reid," the older man replied. He'd never felt so inept in his entire life. He had to say something optimistic, at least. "I promise I'll do everything to get you out of here."

"You have to leave now, Sir," one of the white coat orderlies said impatiently.

Reid eyes darted from the guards to his boss, back to the guards. Then back to his superior.

"Please help me," he pleaded and made an attempt to grab Hotch's arm.

"Hey! Stay away," the man with the keys ordered loudly and moved to pull the younger man away while the other orderly somewhat forcefully led Hotch to the exit.

"I'll get you out of here!" the team leader repeated firmly.

Reid tried to see where his boss was going, but his view was blocked by the big man gripping his shoulders.

The young agent wanted to escape those hands; wanted to run and follow Hotch and talk to him. But the man in white wouldn't let go.

He didn't notice the other guy approaching from behind. He heard someone saying: "This is just until the doc comes with the meds." And suddenly something was wrapped around him, immobilizing his arms. He felt himself being pushed down and then the door fell shut.

And all Reid could do was crawl into one of the four brightly lit corners, waiting for whoever was going to come through the door next.


	20. Chapter 20

A/N: Thank you dear readers and reviewers! And thanks AA for beta reading ;)

Disclaimer: I don't own Criminal Minds.

**Chapter 20**

When Hotch and Morgan arrived at the police station, they were greeted by the worried faces of the other team members.

"What happened?" JJ asked as soon as the two profilers entered the office. Prentiss and Gideon approached quickly, anxiously looking at Hotch. Apparently, they had the same question in mind.

Hotch glanced at them, before walking straight into a vacant room. "He's in the State Hospital now," the team leader said. He deliberately skipped the 'for the criminally insane' part. Everyone could guess what 'State Hospital' meant in Reid's case. There was no need to express it aloud.

The others followed him into the office. "We can't leave him there!" Prentiss exclaimed. She had a pretty good idea of how people were being 'held' in a clinic like this. The female profiler couldn't see how Reid was supposed to last there.

"We don't have a choice," Hotch replied evenly.

Gideon groaned. "This is all my fault."

Morgan threw his former colleague a hostile look. "Yeah, well..."

"Stop it!" the unit chief demanded instantly. Another fight was the last thing they needed right now. "Blaming each other won't do Reid any good. The only way to get him out of there is to find Sanders."

The others fell silent. They knew Hotch was right. Reid wouldn't benefit from their pity and feelings of guilt. Everything had happened so quickly. Their youngest had been accused of murder and locked up in clinic. During the last couple of days the agents had been busy worrying and wondering what this was all about. Now that Reid had been put in a prison-like institution, the team couldn't ignore the task at hand anymore.

"We need a working profile of Christian Sanders," Hotch stated the obvious. "JJ, call his psychiatrist. We need his input. And tell Garcia to gather as much information about Sanders as possible. Family, education, criminal records, shoe size, anything. Understood?"

The media liaison nodded and headed out of the room, already dialing on her cell phone.

"What is this about?" Jacobs stormed into the office, glaring at the unit chief. "You're not working this case anymore."

"We're only trying to help," Hotch said calmly.

The detective looked puzzled. "Help? I don't need help. I've got the killer."

"I don't think so," Morgan interjected quickly.

Jacobs' gaze shifted to the younger agent for a moment. He was wondering what was going on with these people. A whole team of highly skilled profilers in complete denial?

The policeman turned back to Hotch. Before he could speak, however, the team leader lifted his hand to stop him.

"Look," Hotch began. "You have Reid. You won't lose anything if we keep looking for Sanders. We know he's on the run. If he isn't the killer, okay. But we have to at least try to find him."

Jacobs thought about it a minute. In a way, he could relate. If one of his colleagues was accused of a crime, the detective would do anything to free him of suspicion, too. And Hotchner was right. There was no risk in letting them do their profiling exercises.

"Alright. You can work in this office," Jacobs agreed. "But don't use any police resources."

"We don't need your resources," Morgan countered. "We have Garcia."

* * *

Reid felt cold. Half an hour ago the men in white had taken him to the physician of the State Hospital. They'd told him that his bodily state had to be checked before they could start dealing with his mental problems.

The young agent had tried to convince them that he didn't have any mental problems but the guys who seemed to be guards and nurses at once wouldn't listen.

"I'm Dr. Franklin," the physician introduced himself as the trio entered the room.

Perhaps Reid would have shaken the doctor's hand, but the straight jacket they'd forced on him pretty much prevented that.

"I think you can take it off now," Franklin said to the guards, and pointed at the immobilizing garment around the young agent's torso.

"I've read Dr. Emerson's files about you, Mr. Reid..."

"Dr. Reid."

The older man in the white robe glanced up at the new patient. "Excuse me?"

The profiler cleared his throat. "It's Dr. Reid. I'm a Federal Agent."

Franklin nodded. "I know. It's in the file. But fact is that you're here for a reason. Apparently, they suspect you of murder, _Dr._ Reid." He sarcastically put emphasis on the agent's title, signalizing that he wasn't overly impressed by the academic degree. "Don't expect to be treated any other way than your fellow inmates."

Reid didn't reply. He swallowed and let his gaze drop to the floor.

"The file says you have an eating disorder."

Now the young man's head snapped up again. What had Emerson written about him? "No, I don't..."

But Franklin just kept reading the notes he held in his hands. "The file says that you refuse to eat, or rather refuse to keep the food down. In my book, that's an eating disorder." The doctor paused to look at the skinny person in front of him. It didn't take a genius to see that the young man was ill.

"I want to do a few tests," Franklin finally announced. "Strip to your waist, please."

* * *

Christian Sanders' psychiatrist, Dr. Kuttler, had arrived at the police station. Together with the BAU team he now sat in the closed room, trying to help the profilers create an accurate profile of his vanished patient.

It turned out that Sanders had left the clinic in Pennsylvania about a month ago.

"And you didn't look for him?" Prentiss asked irritatedly.

"Of course, we announced him missing," Kuttler defended himself. "But he wasn't a prisoner. He hadn't been convicted and we didn't classify him as dangerous."

"He might have killed four people," the female agent shot back.

"He's never shown any signs of violent behavior. There were no indications that..."

"Alright, let's focus on the profile," Hotch demanded. "What can you tell us about Sanders' psychological state?"

Kuttler sighed and leaned back in his chair. "As I told Dr. Emerson already, he's suffered a psychotic break, triggered by the sudden release from a long-term captivity. He's paranoid and delusional. At the beginning he had hallucinations about his captors and 'clients'. After a while his focus shifted entirely to a person he called 'Matt'. I had no idea that he was an agent of yours."

Hotch entwined his fingers on the table and looked the psychiatrist straight in the eye. "What does he see in Reid?"

Kuttler hesitated. He wasn't sure how to put it. Certainly he didn't want to upset the feds further.

"Well," he began slowly. "Obviously there has been some sort of closeness between Christian and Dr. Reid during their captivity. They had sexual contact which was probably not consensual."

"Of course it wasn't!" Morgan called instantly.

The psychiatrist nervously glanced up. When he saw the angry expression on the strong looking agent's face, he decided to look at Hotchner again. He went on: "It is impossible to tell whether my patient has always been homosexual because there don't seem to be any close relatives or friends we could ask. It doesn't really matter, actually. In his delusional state he considers Dr. Reid a lover. And he thinks that this attraction is reciprocative."

Before someone could respond to this, JJ rushed into the room.

Hotch looked up. "What is it?"

"Garcia did some research on Sanders' family. His parents died when he was a teenager. Car accident. No siblings," the media liaison said quickly.

Dr. Kuttler shrugged. "As I said. No-one we could question about his lifestyle before the capture."

For a few seconds, everyone kept silent.

Gideon, who had quietly been sitting in the corner until then, was the one to speak first. "Did Sanders ever talk about seeing Reid again?"

The psychiatrist turned around to the retired profiler. "Yes, he made plans."

* * *

He was alone in his cell again. The physician had told Reid that he needed to eat; told him that his blood pressure was too low and that his weight had reached a dangerously low level.

"Eat or we will have to feed you through a tube. We can't let you starve, Dr. Reid."

Those had been Dr. Franklin's words. And now the door opened and the men in white appeared with a metal tray.

"Lunch time," one of the nurses said and took the plastic dishes from the tray.

Reid stood with his back pressed against one of the walls. Was he supposed to eat from the floor? Not that he felt like eating anyway.

"Doctor said you have to eat at least half of it," the nurse added in a clearly bored tone of voice. "Don't puke."

They placed the white plate on the floor in the middle of the room. One man left while the other stood at the door with his arms crossed before his chest.

Reid just looked at him, a quizzical expression on his face.

"I have to make sure that you eat it," the nurse explained brusquely.

The profiler sighed and suspiciously eyed the food on the ground. From where he stood, it was hard to tell what they'd brought him for lunch. He stepped closer and kneeled down before the plate, leaning in a bit more.

The young agent couldn't avoid the impression that he was treated like a dog. And, as if that wasn't bad enough, the meal actually looked like dog food. Meat. Some sort of meat was there. And potatoes. No vegetables. Or...?

Reid bent down further. _Yes_, he mused as he looked closely at his lunch, _that might be broccoli. _

His stomach clenched painfully. The sight of the food, the smell and the fact that they hadn't even left him a fork, only a plastic spoon...it was all too much. Did they fear he would stab himself with a fork?

He couldn't eat it. Reid knew he couldn't eat it. He hadn't been able to keep his food down at St. Lousianne's. And that had been tasty.

Then again: the idea of being fed through a tube was a nightmare. He couldn't let this happen. He had to show these people that he was alright, that he could eat like a normal person. Well, like a normal person without a fork or a table.

Carefully, Reid brought a piece of potato to his mouth.

He chewed. And swallowed. He really tried.

And failed.

* * *

In the office of the DC police department Hotch and his team were still trying to figure out how to find Sanders. They'd already come to the conclusion that the young man's delusions and the events of the past days matched too well. It couldn't be a coincidence. Still, they had no evidence. It wasn't enough.

"Did he ever talk about revenge? Payback?" Hotch asked the psychiatrist.

Kuttler shook his head. "He mentioned that he wants to make things right this time. I thought he was referring to this 'Matt'. Christian's thoughts weren't coherent. He jumped from one subject to another. It's really hard to tell in hindsight."

The team leader nodded tiredly. He knew Kuttler wasn't a profiler. The psychiatrist had never been trained to deal with potential criminals. Of course, he hadn't been able to predict what Sanders was going to do.

"Alright," Morgan suddenly exclaimed, rather fed-up with the slow progress of the case. "We know that Sanders wanted to get Reid back. As it seems, he found him. So there are two questions to answer now. First: how did he find Reid? And second..."

"Where is he going to look for him?" Prentiss added thoughtfully.

Hotch looked sharply at her. "Where he found him last time. St. Lousianne's."

* * *

Dr. Emerson's phone rang. Unfortunately, the psychologist couldn't answer the call. The knife that was pointed at him stopped him from moving around the desk to his cell.

"Shut up!" Christian shouted, the weapon shaking in his hands.

Emerson lifted his arms. "I haven't said anything," he replied calmly.

"The phone! Shut up!" The younger man pressed his free hand against his ear, trying to block out the disturbing sound of the cell.

The psychologist watched the unexpected invader with a worried expression on his face. He wasn't completely sure what this was about. A minute ago, the guy with the knife had just stormed his office and threatened to kill Emerson. The older man hadn't figured out why, yet.

Finally the ringing stopped and Christian seemed to relax a bit.

"Where is he?" he asked impatiently.

"Who?"

"Matt! He's not in his room! I looked, he...he wouldn't go anywhere without telling me...What did you do to him?!" The younger man lifted the large knife so it was only inches away from Emerson's throat.

The doctor tried to stay calm. He had been working with the FBI for many years. He knew how to talk his way out of a tricky situation.

"What is your name?" he asked friendly.

A flicker of utter confusion crossed Christian's face. "What...?"

"I'd like to know your name."

"J...Jase," the younger man stammered, slightly lowering the knife. "I need to find Matt! He...he will be scared if I don't go to him."

"Scared? Why?" Emerson continued the inquiry. At least he knew now who this man was. He had to get Aaron here. The police. Someone who had handcuffs.

"I promised...I told him that I come back for him," Christian explained in a small voice. His eyes darted through the room, as if trying to figure out what this place was. "He's waiting for me."

Emerson nodded. "I see. Well, if you're a friend of Matt's, I can take you to him," he said cautiously, a forced smile on his face.

The younger man let the knife drop. "Really?" He stared at the psychologist with big eyes.

"Of course. He's not here today, though. I need to make a phone call and arrange the meeting."

"Alright, alright," Christian said in a rush. He started to scratch his arms. "Just...just hurry. I need to see him. Need him."

"I understand," Emerson replied and moved slowly around the desk. Never taking his eyes off the distraught young man in his office, he dialed Hotch's number.


	21. Chapter 21

A/N: Thank you so much dear readers and reviewers! And special thanks to AA for doing the beta thing ;)

Disclaimer: I don't own Criminal Minds.

**Chapter 21**

To Gerald Emerson, ten minutes had never felt so long. The psychologist forced himself not to look at his watch. He had to act as casual as possible, as if nothing was wrong – as if there wasn't a psychotic man with a knife in his office. Actually, the weapon was still on the floor. Christian hadn't picked it up again. The confused young man was getting more and more nervous with each minute passing. Still, the knife was too far away for the psychologist to reach without alarming the unwanted guest.

Emerson knew the police would be there any second. The BAU would have needed one hour to get to the sanatorium and that was too long for Hotch's liking. So the senior profiler had alerted a team of policemen who were conveniently nearby.

"What's taking him so long?" Christian asked agitatedly, pacing the doctor's office. The same question he'd asked about twenty times already.

The older man tried to sooth. "He must be here soon." Emerson watched the intruder shake his head angrily. Stalling. That was the key word. "So, when did you visit Matt? I didn't even notice you were there."

Christian turned abruptly towards the man in the suit, a irritated expression on his face. "I...I'm not sure. A few days ago, I think. Matt was tired. I had to go...He understands...yes, he understands..." The last words were only whispered in a rush. The young man kept pacing and fiddling with his hands.

Emerson didn't get the chance to respond because there was a firm knock on the door. Both men quickly turned their heads towards the entrance.

"Is that him?" Christian asked excitedly and rushed to the door. He pulled it open and found himself looking straight into the barrel of a gun.

Glancing into the room, it took the cops only a split second to take in the situation.

"Lift your hands so I can see them!" one of the three police officers shouted at Christian who stood frozen at the door.

When he didn't make any attempt to comply, the policeman demanded again: "Hands up!"

Christian threw a confused glance at Emerson, before slowly raising his arms.

"Where's Matt?" he asked nervously.

There was no reply of course. Instead one of the cops holstered his weapon and moved in to arrest the younger man.

"You alright?" the second officer asked Emerson, carefully putting the knife into an evidence bag.

The psychologist nodded. "We need to take him to Agent Hotchner," he said, assuming that the cops had already been informed.

"I know. We have orders from Detective Jacobs to bring him to the police station."

* * *

The walls seemed to come closer and closer as the hours went by. Reid didn't know what time it was. No windows, no watch, only bright artificial light and the whiteness of the room he couldn't escape from. The nurse had cleaned up the mess he'd made earlier. _Tomorrow_, the man had said. If Reid didn't eat before tomorrow they would feed him through a tube. Dinner at six. Another humiliation. There was no way to prevent it from happening.

The young agent moved slowly along the walls of his prison, his hands touching the soft surface. They didn't want him to hurt himself. No personal items were allowed. They wouldn't even permit him to wear his own clothes. White sweatpants and a white shirt. Short sleeves. It was warm, they said. To Reid, the air felt freezing.

He kept pacing the small room and looked down at his damaged arms. They'd seen it, of course. But they hadn't commented on it. As long as he didn't hurt himself under their watch, they couldn't care less. Not their responsibility. Reid brushed his fingers over the scars on his left arm. He couldn't help but wonder what he had become. A wreck. A nervous wreck who couldn't even eat anymore. Someone who cut himself only to feel a tiny bit in control. It was his doing, after all. Letting the blade dance on his arms and legs, increasing the pressure slowly until the skin breaks and the first drops of blood appear. The contrast of the red liquid on his pale body...

It was his decision. Not something someone forced on him. If he wanted it to stop, he had the power to stop it. That was the difference.

At least that was what he kept telling himself.

Almost unconsciously, Reid started to scratch his arms as he walked through the room. When he reached the locked door, he stopped short.

The profiler tentatively placed his palms against the door. There was no handle. No way to open it from the inside. Not without a key.

Reid pressed his hands harder against the white surface. "Let me out," he whispered and rested his forehead against the solid door.

But no-one came. Not a sound from the outside. Only heavy silence engulfing the room.

Slowly, Reid's fists started to hammer against the door. "Please," he whimpered. "Let me out."

Still, there was no response. It dawned on the young agent that not a single person could hear him. Either that, or they didn't care. No-one would open the door.

His fists continued pounding against the door, but the impacts didn't even make a sound. It didn't hurt, no matter how hard he hit the smooth surface.

"Hotch!" he called loudly, although he knew that his boss wasn't there. "Please? Someone!"

Now Reid screamed. "Let me out!"

Erratic breaths escaped his mouth as he abruptly spun around, sliding to the floor with his back pressed against the door.

Reid came to rest on his knees and buried his face in his hands. He didn't cry. He couldn't. He knew that sooner or later someone would come and force him to do things he didn't want to do. Just like...back then.

Suddenly, the young profiler didn't want to be near the door anymore. He slowly crawled back to a far corner, never taking his eyes away from the entrance. He pulled his legs close and wrapped his arms around them. And he waited.

* * *

The BAU team stood in front of the interrogation room - the same room where Reid had been questioned only a few days earlier. They looked through the big window at the young man sitting with his hands cuffed to the chair. Emerson had come to the police station with the cops and now stood next to Hotch. Gideon and Jacobs were there as well, both silently observing the arrested man.

It was Morgan who broke the silence. "His hair is longer," he simply stated.

Hotch nodded absent-mindedly.

"So this is the guy your agent was rambling about?" Jacobs asked grumpily. He'd been hoping that the case was finally solved, and now this guy showed up and everything was in abeyance again.

"Yes," the team leader said curtly. "That's him."

The detective scratched the back of his head. "That doesn't mean your agent is innocent. There's still the evidence..."

"I know," Hotch replied quickly, cutting the detective off. "We need a confession."

With that, he moved towards the door leading to the interrogation room.

"He's highly delusional, Aaron," Emerson called.

Hotch turned around, his hand already on the door handle.

The psychologist went on: "He thinks he cares about Spencer. Apparently he is sure that Spencer is waiting for him."

The senior profiler frowned. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that he doesn't mean to harm Spencer," Emerson said, taking a step closer to his friend. "Remember that when you talk to him, no matter how angry you are."

Hotch nodded numbly. In fact he wasn't angry, he was furious. He'd seen the tapes. He knew what that kid had done to his subordinate. It was probably because of Sanders that Reid was now locked up in a padded cell. But the unit chief also knew that Emerson was right. Giving vent to his emotions in that interrogation room wouldn't do Reid any good. They needed a confession from Sanders in order to get their youngest teammate free. Everything else, Hotch's own inner turmoil included, would have to wait until later.

Without another word, the senior profiler entered the brightly lit room and sat down on the chair opposite to the restrained man.

Christian looked nervously at the unfriendly looking visitor.

"My name is Aaron Hotchner, I'm with the FBI. Can you tell me your name?" Hotch started the inquiry as usual with an easy question.

The younger man licked his lips. The team leader noticed that Christian looked slightly thinner than on the tapes. He was still of a rather athletic build, but it was apparent that he'd been through a rough time recently. His dark hair was indeed a bit longer. Not as long as Reid's though. Just long enough for him to tuck behind his ears.

"I'm Jase," the younger man replied after a while. "I told the doctor already. I need to see Matt. He's waiting. I won't...I can't stay here."

Hotch tried to put on a slight smile. "Jase...what? What's your last name?"

"I have to go to Matt. You don't understand. It's really important!"

"Alright," the profiler replied. "Tell me about Matt. Is he a friend of yours?"

The cuffs made a clinking sound as Christian tried to rise from his chair. He couldn't stand up, of course, but the sudden movement was enough to alert Hotch.

"I'm not stupid!" the younger man yelled. "You know Matt! I saw you in the hospital!"

The unit chief leaned back in his chair. This wasn't going to be easy. Although Christian seemed to be trapped in a severe delusion, he was obviously very aware of his surroundings.

"Do you know why you are here?" Hotch asked firmly.

"The knife. I...uhm,...the doctor... I shouldn't have threatened him," the young man stammered. "But Matt wasn't in his room anymore! I needed to find him. I thought his doctor would take me to him..."

"Why do you need to find him?"

Christian looked at Hotch as if the older man had just come from another planet. "I love him."

* * *

The door flung open.

"Dinner," the orderly said harshly.

Reid was still sitting in the corner. He watched the man approach with the dishes. It was another employee. _Another shift_, he mused.

"I read a note that you didn't eat your lunch," the man with the white robe said, placing the plate on the floor before the young agent.

Reid glanced at the food. Bread, cheese, an apple and water.

He sighed. Maybe he could try the fruit. And water. He definitely needed something to drink.

Again, the orderly remained in the room, observing whether the patient kept his food down or not.

Since there was no knife, Reid couldn't cut the apple in pieces. Carefully, he took a very small bite. The juices of the apple felt really refreshing in his dry mouth. He swallowed and waited. When his stomach didn't protest, he bit off another piece. He chewed slowly, enjoying the sweet taste of the fruit spreading on his tongue.

It was then that the memory hit him. The picture of Tristan Stuart placing a banana on his lap, telling him to eat. And Reid knew he had lost again.

"I'm sorry, I can't..."

He bent over and brought up the small amount of food that had made it into his stomach.

The orderly shook his head and made a note in his file.

"That didn't go too well," the man stated dryly. "I'll inform Dr. Franklin. He has to decide what to do about your vomiting issue."

Reid wiped his mouth and looked miserably at the floor. He knew he had a problem. Quite a few of them, actually. He figured that perhaps Gerald would have been able to help him with that, but here...

These people didn't seem to have any intention to help him. They wanted to keep him alive, but their main task was to keep him locked up - as far away from the real world as possible.

With shaking hands Reid brought the plastic cup with the water to his lips. He had to get rid of the nasty taste of stomach acid in his mouth. The clear liquid helped with the burning feeling in the back of his throat. However, it didn't stop the angry growls of his stomach.

The young agent watched the orderly pick up the plate again. They both knew it would be useless for Reid to try bread and cheese.

The man took the dishes and left the room without cleaning up the remains of the apple. Reid didn't really care at this point. He went back to his corner, trying to melt with the wall behind him.

* * *

Hotch hadn't made any progress whatsoever.

Regardless of the question asked, Christian just kept repeating how much 'Matt' meant to him and that he had to go to him soon.

When Hotch had realized that this inquiry wouldn't take them anywhere, he'd decided to continue until the young man got tired enough to maybe let down his wall of defense.

Until now, however, that hadn't happened.

"You know what happened to Matt?" he asked eventually. "What they did to him in Vegas?"

Christian stopped his distressed ramblings for a second and stared at Hotch. "Yes."

"And you are not angry at them for what they did? They hurt him, after all. Don't you wanna punish them for that?"

The younger man actually seemed to think about the question for a little while. Hotch already began to hope that he had finally pushed the right button...

"I have to go to Matt now," Christian said thoughtfully. "He must be scared."

Hotch sighed deeply. It was no use. Silently, he got up and left the room.

A team of very exhausted looking profilers were awaiting him outside. He shook his head in defeat.

"He won't talk to me about the murders. I'm not even sure if he's aware of his actions," the team leader stated quietly.

Jacobs rose from a chair in the corner. "Well, perhaps he doesn't talk about the murders because he doesn't know about them. Perhaps he has no idea that your agent..."

"Save your breath!" Morgan interrupted angrily. It was in the middle of the night and he was way too tired to deal with the detective's accusations any longer. "Reid was right about Sanders. The guy was there all the time. It's only logical to assume that Reid's been telling the truth about the killings as well."

"It doesn't help though," Prentiss interjected quickly. "If Sanders doesn't confess the murders, the evidence will still be enough for the jury to convict Reid."

Once again, oppressive silence spread in the office. It was extremely frustrating. They were so close, yet unable to clear their youngest of suspicion.

"Reid should talk to him." Gideon. His words startled everyone out of their daze.

"No," Hotch replied instantly.

"It's the only way."

The team leader shook his head decisively. "It's not an option."

Gideon stepped close to his former co-worker. "Hotch, we have to..."

"No, Jason! I can't force Reid to face this guy again. After what happened..."

"Aaron, I'm sure Spencer would do anything to get free," Emerson said calmly. "If it's the only way to help him, we need to at least try."

Hotch looked at the psychologist, then at Gideon again.

Should he put Reid in the horrible situation of meeting his assaulter again? Would the young profiler be able to handle that? More important: What if Hotch decided _against _it? What if they kept Reid in prison for good? He wouldn't survive in there for long, the unit chief thought.

Everyone's eyes were glued to the team leader. They watched Aaron Hotchner struggling with himself and they could almost _see_ him making a decision.

He lifted his head and looked Gideon straight in the eyes. "Alright. Let's do it."

* * *

Reid didn't know for how long he'd been sitting in the corner, when suddenly the lights went out. His head snapped up and his eyes darted through the room in an attempt to make out any detail. The first thing he noticed was the dim light shining in from the hallway through the tiny window of the door.

His gaze then shifted to the small red blinking dots on the ceiling. Cameras.

Had they been there before? Why hadn't he seen them?

_No. No. Not again. No..._

They were watching him. Watching his every move. Watching him sleeping, dreaming. Certainly they were going to watch him scream when the nightmares would come.

Reid rested his head against the wall and closed his eyes, hoping – and fearing – that sleep would come and take him soon.


	22. Chapter 22

A/N: Thanks ever so much for the lovely reviews! Feedback is very much appreciated ;) And thank you AA for beta reading!

Disclaimer: Criminal Minds is not mine.

**Chapter 22**

Hotch and Emerson arrived at the Virginia State Hospital for the Criminally Insane very early in the morning. They'd decided to wait until the night was over so everyone could get a few hours of sleep - Reid included. Jacobs had insisted on sending two officers along to escort the young profiler back to the police station.

The four men walked straight to the office of the director. It was almost 7.30 am.

Hotch had been very quiet during the drive. He was still not very fond of the idea to put Reid in the same room with his assaulter. On the other hand, there really didn't seem to be another solution. His subordinate's fingerprints had been found on the murder weapon – the knife he'd held in his hands when they'd found him only a few hundred meters away from the crime scene. Clear and authoritative evidence combined with Reid's fragile mental state would certainly be enough for the jury to convict him.

Emerson must have sensed Hotch's uneasy feelings.

"You're doing the right thing," the psychologist had assured his friend several times since their departure. "We need to get him out. This is the only way."

The senior profiler had merely nodded. He was very well aware that a confession from Sanders was Reid's only chance. Still...there were so many urging questions in Hotch's mind, begging for attention. What if a confrontation with Sanders would break the young man completely? Even if they got a confession...would Reid be able to deal with another traumatic experience? And what if Sanders wasn't the murderer?

Hotch heard Emerson knock against the director's office door, and forced himself to focus on the present again. He'd made the decision. All he could do now was help his agent through this.

"Dr. Emerson?" the man in the suit asked as he opened the door. He held a cup of coffee in his hand and wore a rather confused expression on his face. Apparently he hadn't expected any visitors at this time of day. "What can I do for you?"

It was Hotch who replied. "We need to take Dr. Reid back to the police station for further interrogation," he stated matter-of-factly. "Where is he now?"

The director glanced at his watch. "Probably in the basement. It's shower time." He watched his guests exchange alerted looks. "Should we wait at his cell? It usually doesn't take long," the head of the hospital suggested.

"No," Hotch said quickly. "Let's pick him up down there."

The director led them quietly downstairs and along the corridor to the washrooms. They met a couple of prisoners who were escorted back to their cells. As the men came closer to the showers, they heard an angry voice yelling profanities. Hotch instantly quickened his pace to see what was going on.

The first thing he saw when he entered the huge white tiled shower room was the broad back of a guard who kept cursing at someone.

"Get your skinny ass in gear, freak!" he yelled and bent down to pick up the person who was apparently sitting on the floor.

Hotch was there in a split second. Grabbing the guard's arm from behind, he pulled him back. He then saw Reid sitting naked with his back pressed against the tile wall and his knees drawn tightly to his chest. The water had been turned off, but the floor was still wet from the showering before.

"Get out of here now," the senior profiler harshly told the guard.

The big man irritatedly looked at the director, seeking further instructions. The man in the suit gave him a nod that supported Hotch's words, and left together with his employee.

The unit chief turned around. "Wait outside," he said to the cops.

Meanwhile Emerson had found the pile of blue towels and handed one to Hotch. The team leader crouched down next to his subordinate. Reid had his arms slung around his legs and kept his forehead on his knees. He seemed oblivious to the things happening around him.

Carefully, Hotch covered the young agent with the towel. He had done this before. The memory of himself wrapping the bloodied bed spread around Reid hit him with full force; the sight of the pained expression on his agent's face; the sharp inhale as Hotch had lifted him off the bed; the realization that they'd come too late...

It was all the same.

"Reid?" he asked quietly. "What happened?"

The younger man didn't reply. He just shook his head, still refusing to look his boss in the face.

Hotch tried again. "Did someone hurt you? You can tell me."

Reid slowly lifted his head. Wet strand of hair were stuck to his face. He didn't try to shove the hair back. Instead the young agent grabbed the towel and pressed it tightly against body.

"Spencer, are you hurt?" Emerson crouched down as well and looked worriedly at his patient. Of course, he knew that a communal shower wasn't exactly what the young man needed right now. Since there was no other option at the State Hospital, the psychologist had been hoping against hope that Reid would be able to deal with it. Obviously, the young agent wasn't.

Reid warily glanced at Hotch. "They were watching," he whispered.

The superior bit his bottom lip. "Watching? You mean the guards?"

"Everyone. They wanted...they...they said..."

"What did they say?" Hotch urged gently.

But Reid couldn't express it aloud. The vile words, the remarks that had been made about him. The threats. It wasn't something he could tell Hotch. And there didn't seem to be a point in telling anyway. His team hadn't prevented it from happening. They hadn't been able to spare him the biggest humiliation in his entire life, in Vegas. Nor had they been able to save him from prison. Hotch had promised to help, but deep inside, Reid mused, his boss probably didn't even believe him.

"Why are you here?" he finally asked.

Hotch gave him a concerned look. It made him sad that the young man wouldn't confide in him anymore, but he didn't want to push him.

"We've got him. Christian. He came to Gerald's office. He was looking for you."

Reid stared at his superior. After a long moment, he managed to squeeze out: "You caught him?"

Hotch nodded. "He's at the police station. Unfortunately he won't talk to me. Not about the murders."

The young man's eyes shifted confusedly from his boss to the psychologist. He didn't know what to think of this. There was only one thought that repeatedly flashed through Reid's mind...

_He is real. I knew it. He is real..._

"Spencer?" Emerson asked when his patient made no attempt to respond. "Did you understand what Aaron said?"

The young agent looked with a blank expression at the doctor. "You want me to talk to him, don't you?"

"We think you're the only one who can get through to him," Hotch explained. "We need a confession, Reid."

Worried by the exhausted looks of his patient, Emerson added quickly: "Of course, it's your decision, Spencer. If you don't want to face him..."

The young profiler cut him off. He knew there was no other option.

"I need my clothes."

--

The rest of the team had already gathered in front of the interrogation room. Hotch had called Morgan, telling him that they were on their way.

"You sure this is a good idea?" JJ asked anxiously as the cops brought Christian back from the overnight cell.

Morgan crossed his arms before his chest. "Not at all. But it's better than the alternative."

The media liaison watched the policemen cuff the suspect to the chair like the night before. She shook her head. "He looks so young, so...innocent..."

In this moment the door to the office flung open. Hotch and Emerson entered the room, followed by the two cops who guarded Reid.

The young agent glanced nervously at his team members. When he spotted Gideon in the far corner of the room, he let his gaze drop. He felt everyone's eyes on him. They were watching him. Waiting for...what? Should he say something? Did they expect him to smile? To cry?

He heard Hotch talking to Morgan. "Did he say something?" the unit chief asked, gesturing to Christian.

"Not a word."

A long pause.

Finally, Morgan turned to his arrested teammate. "Are you really up to it, Reid?"

But the younger man couldn't hear him. He walked slowly towards the big window, his eyes glued to the man sitting in the interrogation room. He felt his heart beating too fast in his chest. Reid's stomach clenched painfully at the sight of the man who had taught him lessons the young agent would never be able to forget. But somehow it didn't seem to be the same person anymore. Christian looked so young, so confused as his eyes darted through the white room in an attempt to understand the situation.

A hand placed gently on Reid's shoulder startled the profiler out of his thoughts.

"You can do it, Reid."

The voice. That warm and sympathetic tone. The sound of pure affirmation and trust. Gideon.

Reid took his eyes away from Christian and turned to his old mentor.

He swallowed hard as their eyes met.

"Talk to him," Gideon said calmly. "He thinks he cares about you. Use that. Play into his fantasy."

Reid nodded numbly.

"We'll be right behind the mirror," Hotch added. "He can't hurt you. If you think you can't handle the situation, just get out."

The young agent glanced at his assaulter again. He knew what to do – in theory. He wasn't sure, however, if he could actually do it. He felt so weak. Emerson had given him another supplement drink on the drive to the station, but Reid had been way too nervous to drink much of it. After so many days without proper nourishment his limbs felt wobbly and his brain seemed to be in a permanent state of dizziness.

Nonetheless he was determined to put this absurd situation to an end now.

"Okay," he said quietly.

Hotch gave him a final reassuring nod and led him to the door – the only thing that separated him from Christian. Reid put his hand on the door handle. He drew a deep breath, then entered the room without hesitation.

The young man on the chair stared at him with wide eyes. "Matt!" he exclaimed. A broad smile spread on his face. "Finally!"

--

From the outside the others watched the awkward 'reunion'.

"I don't think he can do it," Hotch murmured through gritted teeth.

Gideon stood right beside his former co-worker. "He's a profiler. He knows what to do," the older man said soothingly. "Have a little faith."

--

Reid forced himself to put on a fake smile. Very slowly, he approached Christian and sat down on the chair on the other side of the table.

"Hello," he said meekly, trying to hold eye contact with his assaulter.

"I'm so glad you're here," Christian replied. "I came to the hospital, but you weren't there..."

"Yes, they...uhm, they took me somewhere else." The profiler wasn't sure yet how bad the other man's delusions were. He didn't know how much he should reveal and what he should keep to himself. He decided to take it slowly.

"Thank you for visiting me at the clinic," he started in a friendly tone. "That...that meant a lot to me."

If possible, the smile on Christian's face brightened even more. "I know. I couldn't stand not seeing you anymore. I was so worried..."

"Worried?"

"Yes, you looked so ill and..." Christian paused. For a second he let his gaze drop to his lap. After a short moment, he lifted his head again. "And I felt so guilty."

Reid felt hope rising. Could he perhaps get the confession much easier than expected?

"Guilty?" he repeated. "Why guilty?"

"For what I did. You know...in Vegas. I knew you weren't ready. But they wanted me to...and...and I thought you started to like it..."

The young agent wanted to shout at the other man. He wanted to yell at him and tell him to shut up. But Reid knew the others were watching – and listening, and he couldn't blow this chance. If he lost it now, he'd probably never get another opportunity to prove his innocence.

"Don't worry about that," he said very quietly, knowing that the others would hear his words nonetheless. "I...it was okay."

Christian looked at him with watery eyes. "I missed you," he admitted warmly. "I missed your touch and I...I felt so alone."

Reid bit his lip. This wasn't the person he'd met in Vegas. This man was sick and broken. A victim himself.

Christian spoke again.

"Could you...please, touch me?"

Reid stared at him.

"Just...I just...," the cuffed man trailed off and closed his eyes.

The young profiler saw a tear running down Christian's face. He was at a loss. What was he supposed to do? The others were watching, expecting him to do the right thing. But what _was_ the right thing?

--

From the other side of the mirror Reid's co-workers saw their youngest teammate stand up and move around the table.

"What's he doing?" Hotch asked. He was instantly alerted. Reid shouldn't get too close to a potential murder.

Everyone held their breath as Reid reached out and put his shaking hand on Christian's cheek, stroking it softly.

"Oh my god," Prentiss exclaimed. She was terrified on the one hand, but also amazed that the young genius managed to do that after all that had happened.

"We should stop this," Hotch hissed, but Gideon prevented him from storming into the interrogation room.

"Give him a chance," he demanded evenly.

--

At the touch of Reid's hand on his face, Christian's eyes snapped open. The smile returned and he tilted his head to intensify the contact.

After a few seconds that felt like a century to Reid, the profiler withdrew his hand. He leaned down, so both men's faces were on the same level.

"You shouldn't have killed these men," he said firmly.

Christian didn't reply, but turned his head away.

"It wasn't the right thing to do," Reid pressed.

Still, the other man refused to respond.

But the young agent had one last ace up his sleeve. "They put me in prison, Jase," he said and walked back to his own chair. He sat down and looked his opponent straight in the eyes. "They're hurting me in there."

The strategy seemed to work. The smile on Christian's face faded. "I'm sorry," he said eventually.

"That's not enough."

"I did it for you, Matt!" And the tears once again started to run down his cheek.

"I never asked you to do it," Reid replied, sounding more agitated.

Christian raised his voice as well. "They were bastards! Rapists! They wanted to hurt you!"

"You didn't have the right to kill them, Jase," the profiler shot back. He knew he had the confession already. He could just stand up and leave the room, but there were a few things that needed to be said. "Killing them won't make things undone."

"But...but I thought...I did it for you!" Christian said again. There was an expression of utter confusion on his face. Confusion and pain. "I'm sorry."

Reid closed his eyes for a brief moment. He wondered why everything had to be so messed up.

"I know."

"I love you, Matt."

The agent couldn't reply. That last statement seemed to suck all remaining energy out of him. He needed to get out.

Reid rose from his chair and moved to the door on shaky legs.

Behind him he faintly heard the other man calling for him, desperation in his voice. However, there was nothing more Reid could do.

He opened the door and stepped out. He could see his team members waiting for him. There were different emotions flickering across their faces. Worry, as usual. But also relief and maybe...pride?

Reid didn't get the chance to properly analyze their reactions. His vision became more blurred with each second passing and his limbs had gone completely numb.

He placed a hand against the door frame, trying to support himself, but it was no use.

His legs gave way and just in time before he hit the floor Reid felt strong arms catching him. Then everything went black.


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N:** Please note that I have no medical education. I apologize for any improbabilities. Big thanks to **tearbos **for beta reading! ;)

Disclaimer: Criminal Minds is not mine.

**Chapter 23**

A white room.

Or...it's not really a room. Just pure whiteness all around me, hurting my eyes with its brightness. I turn and look but there is nothing, not even air. I try to take a breath, but I can't feel my lungs working. I listen. Not a sound. Is my heart beating? I focus on my body, seeking a sign that I'm still alive. Am I dead? Is this what happens? I can't remember how I got here. I'm still thinking, somehow, but the nothingness around me is now in my brain as well. No memories, no faces, no facts, not even pain.

And I think that maybe death is not that bad.

-o-o-o-o-

"Get the paramedics here!" Aaron Hotchner shouted. Just in time he'd caught Reid. He had seen it coming. The gray color on his subordinate's sweaty face; the young man's hand on the door frame right before his legs had given way. In an instant, Hotch had been there and carefully lowered Reid to the floor.

After the initial shock, everyone had stepped into action.

JJ called the paramedics while Morgan and Emerson knelt down next to Reid's motionless body.

"He's breathing," Hotch stated with relief and checked the pulse on his agent's neck. "It's weak, but steady."

"He collapsed. It was only a matter of time," Emerson said bitterly. "We need to get him to the hospital."

The team leader opened the top buttons of Reid's shirt and placed his hand gently against the younger man's cheek.

"Reid? Come on, open your eyes."

There was no reaction.

Morgan shook his friend's shoulder. "Come on, kid!" he urged.

It was then that the door behind the men opened.

"Matt?"

Christian tried to tear himself away from cops who wanted to lead him back to his cell.

"Matt! What happened? What did you do to him?" the young man yelled. "Matt!"

For a very short moment Hotch shifted his focus away from Reid to look at Christian.

"Get him out of here!" he ordered firmly. That guy was the last person he wanted to see around Reid.

"Matt! I'm sorry! Matt?" Christian shouted as he was led away from the office.

His voice faded and the three men concentrated on the unconscious agent on the floor again.

"Where the hell are the medics?" Morgan asked agitatedly. He threw an impatient look at JJ, but the media liaison could only shrug helplessly.

"They should be here any minute," she said meekly.

As if on cue the door flung open and two paramedics stormed inside.

Gideon watched from a distance how they checked Reid's vital functions and put him quickly on the stretcher.

There was only one person allowed to accompany the young man on the ambulance. There was no need to discuss that decision. Of course, it was the unit chief who stayed with Reid during the drive to the hospital. The others agreed to follow in their SUVs.

Morgan grabbed the keys and gave Gideon a meaningful look. "Let's go."

-o-o-o-o-

I try to walk, to move on in this seemingly endless white fog. I can't feel my feet. I can't feel anything at all. I look down to see if my hands are still there – just to assure myself that I'm not a ghost. But I can't see them. I look down and there is...nothing.

"Hey."

The sudden voice startles me. I can't tell where it came from. I turn around. There's no one there.

"Why are you hiding?" the voice asks me. I know the voice. It's...I can't remember the name. But I heard the voice before. Before – before what? I wonder if there has ever been something else. It feels like I've been here in this perfect whiteness forever. It seems so right. Like I'm floating, weightless, mindless, careless...

"You don't have to hide," the voice says again and I can't ignore it anymore.

Am I even able to speak?

"Who are you?" I ask – or perhaps I just think the question.

Soft laughter. Then the voice is gone.

And the whiteness turns into a shade of gray.

-o-o-o-o-

For 30 minutes the medics had worked on Reid. His team members stood in the hallway of the emergency room and could only watch through a big window.

"What's taking them so long?" Morgan asked worriedly.

"It hasn't been that long," Hotch replied evenly. He knew what his colleague meant though. Time went by extremely slow as they had to watch the medics touch and probe and stick needles into their young friend's arm. It was dreadful to just stand there, unable to help Reid.

Morgan snorted dismissively, causing Prentiss to lay a calming hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sure he'll be just fine once he got some rest. It was just too much for him," she said reassuringly.

Her co-worker didn't reply. Morgan had serious doubts that Reid was going to 'be just fine'. Even a physically and mentally healthy person would have trouble coping with all the crap that had happened in the past few days. How was Reid supposed to make it?

Finally the attending physician left the room and approached the group that was anxiously staring at the young patient.

"How is he?" Hotch asked immediately, a worried expression on his face.

The doctor sighed and turned to the black haired man who seemed to be in charge.

"Are you family?"

Hotch glared at him. "I'm his superior. He was on-duty when he broke down." That wasn't exactly true, but the unit chief had no nerves for a debate with the physician.

"I understand," the man in the white robe said. "Well, he suffered a circulatory collapse. That can be caused by many things, such as stress, hypoglycemia or dehydration."

The others nodded. No surprise there.

"Is he gonna be alright?" Morgan asked the most urgent question.

The doctor gave him a slight smile. "I think so. We give him saline solution to increase the blood volume and to compensate the lack of fluids in his system. He should wake up soon. However," the physician added earnestly. "...we need to wait for the results of the blood tests."

-o-o-o-o-

Something is happening. I don't know what it is and I'm scared. It is safe here. There are no walls, no ground, no ceiling, no limits at all. I could go anywhere. But then again, there is nowhere to go. The whiteness is gone, replaced by a light gray and I wonder what it means.

"They are calling you."

There it is again – the voice. It sounds different though, almost...sad.

"Who are you?" I ask and expect to be laughed at again by the owner of the voice. But it doesn't happen.

Instead there is a long moment of silence. I think he's gone again, but I'm wrong.

"I have to leave you for a while," he says.

Everyone does, I think - or perhaps I say it aloud.

"Not everyone," the painfully familiar voice tells me. "I have to go, but that doesn't matter."

And now the gray fog around me becomes darker. Suddenly I feel a sharp pain and a flood of memories crashing down on me. My mind is screaming and I call him: "Jase!"

But he is gone and something is pulling at me, tearing, shouting.

I can see how the gray turns to black. And just when I think it can't get any darker, the fog begins to dissolve and I want the whiteness back.

-o-o-o-o-

Gideon and Emerson sat in the small hospital room. Reid had been transferred there from the ER to get some real rest. The doctors told them not to crowd the young man. Therefore, the team had stayed downstairs, waiting for news about their friend's state.

The two men had been sitting in silence for almost an hour. Every now and again a slight sigh would escape Reid's lips. Apart from that, his condition hadn't changed. He just lay there seemingly oblivious to his surroundings.

The door then opened and Hotch quietly stepped in.

"I called Jacobs. He talked with Sanders again," the unit chief said. "He repeated his confession. He also admitted to the murder of the last victim. Reid's clear of suspicion."

"That's good," Emerson replied with obvious relief.

Hotch moved closer to Reid's bed. He looked at his young agent for a while, and then shook his head. "There are still so many questions left."

"It doesn't matter now," Gideon said calmly.

The team leader glanced at him. "Doesn't it? We still don't know what happened on the roof. Apparently, Sanders wasn't there. Reid must have been hallucinating..."

"He's been under a lot of pressure," Emerson replied reasonably. "He hasn't eaten in days and he was stressed out after the interrogation. It was too much."

"Let's just hope he wakes up soon," Gideon said, trying to keep his voice down.

Hotch rubbed his forehead. "And then? He needs help. We can't, I mean...I don't think..."

"Spencer needs to go back to the clinic," the psychologist continued decisively. "He has issues that need to be resolved."

"You can't send him back there," Gideon instantly shot back. "That place didn't exactly work in his favor."

Emerson stood up. "He needs professional help."

Gideon didn't agree. "He needs a break."

Hotch had no idea what Reid needed. So far nothing they had done had been helpful for Reid's recovery. Actually, his condition had gotten worse with each day. So what was the right thing to do now?

The three men went silent for a long moment.

"You know," Gideon finally began. "I could take him with me for a little while."

Hotch and Emerson stared at him.

The retired profiler explained: "I have a little cabin at the ocean. California. It's nothing special, but..."

The unit chief interrupted. "Running away is not always a solution, Jason."

The statement was meant to be hurtful, and it did the trick. Gideon winced, but then a self-depreciating smile spread on his face.

"I know. I just think it would give him a chance to heal. Distance, some peace and quiet..."

Emerson shook his head. "Spencer needs medical attention. He's sick."

"He's traumatized, yes," Gideon replied. "But he's not psychotic."

Hotch nodded. "That's right. I think we should let him make this decision."

-o-o-o-o-

There are voices. Other voices, older, familiar somehow. Are they talking to me? I can't tell. The darkness is still around me, making it impossible to see.

The pain is still there as well, something creeping through my veins, something that shouldn't be there. But I can't do anything to stop it. I wish I could back to that state of obliviousness, to that never-ending whiteness, but I have an idea that it is gone for good.

Even the darkness seems to leave me. The fog is becoming thinner and the voices louder, and I can almost understand what they are saying. I hear single words, torn phrases; I recognize the tone of voice...

_"...take him with me..."_

I know who is speaking. A memory, wonderful and devastating at once, comes to my mind. And I think that maybe it is time to open my eyes.

-o-o-o-o-

It was a long flight from Virginia to California.

Reid sat by the window. He hadn't said a word since they'd left the hospital. He'd spent a few days there to gain some strength. Hotch had told him about Christian's solid confession. The young agent had been glad, of course, but he hadn't been able to actually show any emotions. Emerson had tried to convince him to go back to St. Lousianne's. However, Reid had already decided to accept Gideon's offer – for several reasons. On the one hand, he needed to gain some distance to his friends. As hard as it was, he couldn't stand the thought of being around them. He knew Hotch and Morgan had witnessed his darkest hour back in Vegas. They had also watched him standing on the edge of a roof, they had visited him in prison, they had seen him showering.

Even now, after the case had been solved, they kept looking at him with that horrible worry in their eyes. Sympathy, pity, loathing...Reid didn't know what exactly it was, but it made him sick.

The others hadn't really tried to hold him back. He could tell that they weren't happy about his decision, but no one seemed to be willing to discuss it with him. He had a feeling that his team members had trouble even looking him in the eye. That was exactly the reason why he had to go as far away as possible.

A cabin at the Pacific Coast appeared to be far enough for the time being.

Gideon kept throwing nervous glances at the man who sat beside him on the plane. He knew that taking Reid with him went hand in hand with a huge responsibility. If something went wrong, everyone would blame him. He would blame himself as well, of course. But he was determined not to let it go that far. He was determined to help his young friend for a change.

Right now the most helpful thing he could do was not push Reid.

They arrived at the cabin in the late evening. The sun was setting and bathed the small cottage in a beautiful orange light.

"Here we are," Gideon announced as they entered his wooden refuge.

Reid gave him a timid smile.

"I'm gonna make dinner," the older man said, and started to put the necessary items on the kitchen counter.

"I'm not hungry," the young doctor replied.

Gideon smiled and countered lightly: "Well, I am. Make yourself comfortable in the meantime. It won't take long."

Reid dragged his bag to the small spare room. "I, uhm, I'd like to shower if that's okay..." he said cautiously.

"Sure. Take your time."

The young profiler closed the bathroom door behind him, exhaling heavily. After so many hours on the plane he was in dire need of a shower. He stepped into the small cubicle and turned on the hot water.

He'd missed the stinging feeling on his skin. It felt so right to just let the hot stream wash all the filth off him. And no one was watching. He was alone...

...but not entirely alone.

As Reid washed his long hair, he could feel a soft hand stroke tentatively over his chest. Alarming, yet soothing. It was such a weird feeling.

He shivered under the touch.

"_Shhh."_

The young agent could hear the calming sounds from behind, he could feel the touch. He could all but see the person.

"You're not here," he said.

"_Yes, I am. I always will be."_

Reid closed his eyes and continued rinsing the shampoo out of his hair. The smell of the food Gideon was preparing had reached the bathroom. And it was so good. The profiler's stomach growled angrily. He'd eaten very small amounts at the clinic. Mostly he'd just drunk liquid supplements. They hadn't been tasty, but at least they hadn't triggered any bad memories.

He turned off the water and put on clean clothes. Brown cords, a gray sweater. Hesitantly, he left the bathroom to join his old mentor in the kitchen.

Reid was still in the short hallway when he heard a loud clinking noise, followed by a muffled curse. He walked quickly to the kitchen. As he stepped over the threshold, he saw Gideon kneeling on the floor, picking up the shards of a white plate.

The young agent instinctively knelt down as well.

"I'm sorry," Gideon murmured under his breath.

Reid frowned. "Can happen."

"No...I mean...I'm _sorry_."

The young agent let the shards drop again and sat back on the floor. He didn't feel ready for this, but he assumed that there was no escape anymore.

"You don't have to say this," he replied quietly.

Gideon shook his head. Of course, he had to say it. He should have said it a long time ago.

_If I hadn't left the Bureau..._

_If I hadn't called him to the club that night..._

_If I hadn't brought him to the FBI in the first place..._

_If I..._

"I'm sorry," he said again, more forcefully this time. "I know it's futile, but...you need to know that I never wanted you to go through this. If I could switch places..."

"Gideon, don't," Reid cut him short. "I know..." He swallowed. "I know you didn't mean to put me in danger. It's just..."

"Just what?"

"He's still here. Jase...Christian...I can't..."

"You know he can't be here," Gideon said evenly.

"Not in person, no, but he's in my head. He...what he stands for."

The older man understood. Sanders had become a living symbol for Reid's ordeal.

"He will go away eventually. You can make it, Reid. You did it once, with Hankel. You can do it again."

The young agent let his gaze drop to the floor. It wasn't the same. The images of the room, the man, the hours of screaming and begging until finally Hotch and Morgan had come to stop it.

"I never did that before," he whispered.

Gideon closed his eyes for a brief moment. He hadn't even thought about this aspect. That Reid had never...

A sizzling sound startled both men. They look at the stove. The soup had boiled over.

"I think dinner is ready," Gideon commented dryly. He quickly stood up and saved the rest of the creamy hot liquid.

They sat down at the table, each of them staring at their deliciously smelling meal.

"I don't think..." Reid began in a small voice.

"It's just a soup," Gideon said quickly. "With mushrooms. You like mushrooms."

The younger man drew a deep shivering breath. "I'm hungry," he admitted barely audibly.

"I know."

Very slowly, almost anxiously, Reid brought the spoon to his mouth.

Gideon watched him swallow the soup and waited for a reaction.

The genius also waited for his body to react. When nothing happened, he took another spoonful.

"And?" the older man asked cautiously.

A genuine smile spread on Reid's face. "I think it's good."

They ate in silence and went to bed early. They were both pretty beat from the long flight.

-o-o-

As Reid lay in the bed on his back, staring into space, he could once again hear his tormentor say things he had no right to say.

_You liked it, Matt. I know you love me too..._

And he could once again feel the hands touch him in places they had no right to.

_You like that? You'll get more then..._

All those memories, pictures and noises in his head – suppressed for so long, yet never really erased. What was a dream and what was real? Did it even matter?

Reid shifted his focus on the past; on all the times he'd walked through the streets of DC, when he had brought a bit of justice back into this world that had taken everything away from him.

He then thought of Jase, and what the bastard had surprisingly done for him in that interrogation room.

Reid closed his eyes and whispered, "Thank you."

**THE END**

* * *

**A/N2:** Well, the short sequel I had planned turned into a monster ;) I want to thank you all for your support (especially AA who kept encouraging and urging and threatening me to keep it coming lol).

I really hope that you enjoyed reading the story as much as I enjoyed writing it. /LT


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